Eyes of Wolves
by Cavallo Alato
Summary: He has scars to prove his story, but no words to tell it for him. Tsukuyo has found herself an interesting character - a silent, stoic Yato whose abandonment of everything he finds worthwhile only leads him to protect the things he now finds dear. From assassins to the Harusame, Kamui's taunting laughter and the glowing moon, Zenshi wanders the mysterious Edo. (Tsukuyo x OC)
1. - One -

This is Zenshi's story! I'm trying a new style, in bits and pieces. You'll find him on my dA.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 1 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, SIX MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

The ship was eerily quiet for a workday, and continued to be so until the blazing sun had set, leaving a blanket of simple black to fall over Edo. He raised a hand to the glass along the ship's starboard side, but refrained from placing it. His breath misted across the surface, and he guided his fingertips in light circles until the fine blur faded away.

"Lieutenant," came a husky voice.

He turned.

"Estimated arrival time of the Captain and his crew is approximately 2100."

A nod, and the crewman scurried away.

Zenshi moved away from the window, taking long, languid steps that guided him towards the ship's bridge. Not one for many words, the Yato managed to communicate silently with most of the crew members, speaking only when he deemed necessary. There were few that completely understood the nuances of his nonverbal gestures — among those, Abuto and for the most part, Kamui — while most of the rest were quick to catch on.

He fingered the fanciful gold filigree that lined his eastern-styled apparel, absently pondering where the former resent for the overly extravagant filigree had gone. If the Harusame's 7th Division needed a more finely dressed diplomat, they would find none. Zenshi had, at some point, adopted the outfit as his own; he didn't mind using the regal stature it lent his broad shoulders to intimidate.

The crash of scent and sound and murderous intent that bombarded his senses alerted him to Kamui's return. Leave it to their captain to return to his own ship with all the excitement that this dreary planet could offer.

"_Lieutenant Zenshi in cabin one, Lieutenant Zenshi in cabin one_," droned the intercom.

Zenshi turned on his heel, trying to separate the dread from the exasperation.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

There were three things about Edo that fascinated the young Yato man with hair of a mysterious midnight hue.

One was the hospitality of strangers — at least, most of them. A majority of humans were so open to talk, to touch and feel, that he was subject to a fair portion of culture shock.

Two was, of course, earthling food. A subject, he found, was most intriguing to his race.

Three was — no, not the thinness of the air and the potency of the sun — the radiated warmth of the people he became acquainted with. Perhaps they were anomalies in the green-speckled planet. He would not know otherwise.

But for the most part, as he watched the young woman — whose name he, regretfully, still could not recall — wrap his arm in gauze, he was pleasantly surprised by the care and attention with which she tended to him.

"If you'd like, we'll be havin' dinner in about an hour," she said simply. The woman stood and quietly exited, leaving Zenshi to his own devices.

_How immobile I am_, was all he mused to himself. And how Kamui would laugh.

But that was no matter. He found that he was a simple man — the mention of Earth's exquisite cuisine and its particularly enticing, aromatic flavors was enough to mollify him for the time being.

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, SIX MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

"So we've secured a line with Harusame's 6th Division," Abuto drawled through half a yawn. "It seems they might need our backup in their upcoming negotiations."

Most of the crew was listening, but rather characteristically, Kamui was not. Attention to affairs amongst their own was primarily Abuto's area of expertise — with an attentive shadow, Zenshi, under his wing — and the redheaded captain could care less. Unless, that is, there was blood involved.

"We'll be moving fast, and it'll be quick," Abuto said. "Hopefully."

"Hopefully," echoed one of the crew members, sighing as he twirled his umbrella and waited for the man next to him to grow tired of the swinging apparatus.

"While you'd probably be safe telling your wife you'll be home in about a month, you'd also probably be safer fighting your beloved _danchou_." Abuto jerked a thumb at Kamui, and a ripple of the crew's customarily uneasy laughter made its rounds. Kamui readily ignored his co-captain and gnawed on a leg of who-knows-what.

"I want two of the petty officers to accompany Zenshi to the bridge," Abuto continued. "Zenshi, you're making the calls this time."

The bland glance that the young man returned evoked a few chuckles from the rest of the Yato. Had Zenshi been a more expressive person, there would have been a much more pained look on his face.

"Oh, Zen," laughed Kamui, finally speaking up. "That means you have to _talk_."

A grin split the redhead's sharp features. Zenshi, as was usual, did not say anything. He simply wondered what he should make of his old friend's remarks — he wondered a lot about everything and nothing at the same time.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

The fatigued Yato found himself lingering at the threshold of what seemed like a very intimate, private family dinner. It was a simple kotatsu, set in the middle of the room, hosting a very vibrantly boiling hotpot full of Earth's lovely yet mysterious delicacies. Zenshi felt as if he was intruding. He began to back away.

"Ya can c'mon in, ya know."

His hand involuntarily grabbed for the umbrella handle that was not there; he was momentarily startled by the absence of his weapon and his shield, but he was quick to compose. His eyes all but flickered to his side before rising swiftly to meet hers.

The woman who had tended to his wounds.

No, she had done more than that. But that's what he would call her for now.

Alongside her sat two others: the proprietress of the place, a beautiful young woman with thick, glossy black hair. She deftly maneuvered herself in her wheelchair until the young boy — her son, a curious creature with unruly brown nest for his hair — helped her sit. She had a soft voice and a beckoning smile. Zenshi supposed he could not refuse both of them, especially not when the boy eagerly leapt aside and offered the now-vacant spot.

"Do you like hotpot?" asked the woman with the rosy cheeks and soft, pink lips.

Zenshi's gaze swept from her, to the boy, to the other woman. The third was quiet, tilting her pipe in her fingers.

"I wouldn't know."

* * *

><p><strong>.: EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The man must be insane. He must.

That is what the nine-year-old thinks when he is gripping the knife with his bare hands, trying to push it out of his flesh. There is hardly any thought left by the time he gets the knife out of his eye — his eye, which is probably done for, which is probably falling out, but he doesn't know because he can't see — and only pure Yato blood racing through his system. Everything is on fire, and though it is fear that races through his arms and legs like rabid dogs, his Yato blood prevails and he is tackling the man to the ground.

The man is not Yato; he doesn't smell strong.

His right hand is on his right eye — the vision has smudged into a painful, gritty black. With his left hand, he is turning the assailant's knife around, ignoring the dreadful crack when the Amanto breaks his thin child's bones. His wrist will have mending, but this is nothing he can't do.

The lights are suddenly on, it's overly bright. The sharp cries, the howls of anger, both are disconcerting. But by then, Zenshi has plunged the knife into the assassin's heart, only to hear him hoarsely whisper:

"It seems that the son is just like his father — I mistook you for him."

But how could that be true? He is only nine years old, with long blue-black hair and emotionless eyes.

The assassin is gone like a firefly extinguishing its light.

He doesn't know, but even then, he looks like his father.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"What's your name?" asked the boy, his curiosity lighting up with slightly grimy face with a smile. The mother looked like she wanted to reprimand him, like she wanted to take a rag and scrub his cheeks clean, but refrained.

"Zenshi."

"Zenshi…what? No last name?"

He shook his head.

"How'd you get those scars? Are you from Earth? I don't think so, huh?" The child was overly bubbly; he reminded Zenshi of a little girl that used to live down the street from him.

"Quiet, Seita. Let the man eat in peace," scolded the mother.

"That would be a long story to tell," Zenshi told them.

"We've got a long time," replied the woman. She took on one of her inviting smiles. It was hard to back out of the conversation. "I'm Hinowa," she began decisively. "This is my son, Seita. And this is—"

"Tsukuyo," the other woman cut in curtly. She let the pipe drop from her lips, tilting it in her hand until it teetered precariously between two fingers.

"Tsukuyo…?" Zenshi lingered, slightly dipping his head. She offered a flat smirk.

"No last name."

"No last name," he echoed. Zenshi rubbed his throat, as if he had spoken too much. If it was anything, his words had been a rather dry, wan offering of thanks for what she had done for him.

"So how'd you get those scars, Zenshi-san?" piped up Seita again. Persistent, the boy was.

Zenshi had expended his words for the night. Despite the goading and coaxing, he would not succumb to the boy's pleas.

"Seita," accosted Hinowa, cutting the boy off in his tenth cry for a story. "Leave him alone."

"Then answer me this, and I'll be quiet," Seita exclaimed. "What are you?"

"Seita!"

"But _Mom_!"

"Yato," Zenshi replied, far too easily for his comfort. "The Yato Tribe."

Had he been asked to explain why he was here on Earth, he probably would have struggled. But he would not have held the deep apprehension he had in his heart from the few words he had just uttered.

Because the blood within him was real, and it never stopped flowing.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He's coldhearted and stoic and independent. He knows this, and Kamui knows this, and his father knows this. His mother will deny the first, but she is the embodiment of warmth, love, and everything one could possibly crave of an emotional bond.

That's why, when it's offered, he doesn't hesitate to pack the few belongings he needs and step aboard the ship.

He doesn't wait for Kamui's taunting words — he simply followed the red of Kamui's hair to where the blood would paint them all the same color.


	2. - Two -

whoooo. I need to stop procrastinating!

OH YEAH I FORGOT THE DISCLAIMERS!

ch. 1+2

**Disclaimer: Gintama and its characters belong to the almighty Sorachi Hideaki, aka Gorilla-sensei. I'm only in charge of Zenshi, ohohoho~**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 2 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: Monday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

He kept time with each ragged breath, each carefully placed step. The seconds ticked off in his head, dipping into negatives because he knew he was out of time. They were coming closer, and closer, and closer…

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"This?" Tsukuyo pointed to her scar, blowing a thin stream of smoke from her lips. "This is old."

He rested his chin on his propped up hand.

"Of course," she continued. "You probably already knew that."

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, SIX MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

"Okay then, Mr. Politics, riddle me this," sang Kamui, slamming a peculiarly old checkerboard down in front of Zenshi like a declaration of war. "Say I'm an old Harusame admiral and I want to claim a new line of trade from…Planet Liuuk. What do I do first?"

The first thing Zenshi noticed was that Kamui had girlishly long eyelashes — long, auburn, and surprisingly unarming. But the eyes that sparkled beneath those lashes were purely Yato, genuinely filled to the brim with blood and violence and a desire to plunge into battle.

"That is beyond a politician's handle," Zenshi answered squarely.

"Oho," chirped the other boy, folding his hands on the table. "Then tell me: which export is more valuable? _Paradise_, or…"

He paused, leaning in.

"_People_?"

Zenshi abruptly paused in his endeavors, ceasing the slow, absent way he aligned the game pieces on the checkerboard. He said, "Neither."

"And why is that?"

"_Danchou_," called Abuto from across the room, where he sipped a glass of imported wine. "Zen's not a talker. Don't make him talk."

Abuto's sorry attempt to relinquish Zenshi was not unnoticed; that is, except by Kamui.

"Because only lowlifes deal in people," Zenshi informed his so-called captain, "and only idiots deal in drugs."

Kamui smiled, and Zenshi brushed off the urge to wipe off that smug smirk with a bloody rag. It was, as usual, a typical feeling. He wasn't quite comfortable with it, but it would have to do.

"Zenshi."

The older man turned, throwing Kamui a rather desolate glance.

"If you won't play checkers, then how about chess?" Kamui waited a few seconds before flipping the board, scattering the pieces across the floor. A few of the officers next to him grimaced, and the one to his right flinched reflexively. "I'll be the first player, and you can be the pawn."

His voice was light, nonthreatening.

Zenshi walked calmly to the door, wordlessly as only he could do so.

"Don't miss your pawns when they're gone, Kamui."

And he disappeared.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

He knew her name, at least. He knew her voice and the smell of tobacco smoke, lingering around her presence. She asked simple questions, spoke in a simple accent, and wasn't intruding, as far as he was concerned. He mostly changed the gauze himself now; the deeper wounds that ran across his abdomen had healed in superb time. Zenshi was thankful for his Yato bloodline in this aspect.

"Did ya break your wrist?" Tsukuyo asked, unrolling the gauze despite his quiet insistence that he do it himself. The blonde was duly convinced that he was still too torn up to really do much by himself, but relented anyway. She pointed to the Yato's left wrist, where a strong muscular forearm met his palm at a slightly misshapen joint.

Zenshi nodded, retracting his arm to himself. She didn't push further.

"Looks like an old break," she commented, before lapsing into lenient silence.

"Like old scars," he answered, sliding a long blade of grass between his teeth. He chewed on its end, contemplative.

"They never really finish healin', do they?"

"No, they don't."

* * *

><p><strong>.: EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

His mother combs his hair from his face and tells him to be brave. Zenshi doesn't need to be told, however. His aunt is deftly injecting whatever anesthetic available into his skin, and he can't really feel anything for a while. He can feel the pressure of stitches winding in and out, in and out, the tug of flesh and string and needle.

His father is not present.

"There," declares his aunt, stepping back to survey her work — and the damage. "It won't be pretty, but you have an eye. It's a miracle he can even see."

His mother is still pushing his long, black hair from his face, lips pursed in concern.

"He has no need for being pretty, only smart and safe." She continues this somewhat obsessive stroking of his hair until he assures her that he is fine. "Pretty is for princesses, right?"

He tips his head to the side, leaning his cheek into his mother's pale, soft hand.

"Ma, why don't I look like you?"

She's frozen, suddenly. It's true — she has mousy, brown hair that curls around her chin and falls just past her shoulders, and wide, brown eyes the color of melted dark chocolate. With her full lashes and round, heart-shaped face, she has probably only given her only son his long, straight nose and thin lips. The rest — high cheekbones, dark blue eyes, severe angles — are his father's.

"Do you want to look like Ma?" she inquires, looking forlorn. She knows the real question, the one that peeks out from his withdrawn expression. _Why do I look like my father?_

"Not if she doesn't want me to."

He touches his eye, briefly, still numb.

"You are fine as you are, honey."

_You are fine as you are_.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Can I introduce Zenshi-san to my friends in Yoshiwara?" asked Seita, looking eager. A few days passed, and the foreigner had managed to convince the strict leader of the Hyakka to let him wander the streets. Again.

He propped his umbrella up on his shoulder, shielding him from the sun.

"If ya end up in another ditch, I won't save ya this time 'round, got it?" Tsukuyo warned, folding her arms. Indeed, he was indebted. But he wasn't an idiot; he wouldn't commit the same errors twice.

"Can we go to Kabukichou?" chimed the boy.

"Yoshiwara, _only_," Tsukuyo cautioned firmly. "And don't kill'im. The man almost died."

"Almost," Seita echoed sardonically.

"Yes, almost," replied Tsukuyo, rolling her eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Monday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Blood seeped from his shoulder, soaking his shirt. The bullet had only grazed him, but close calls were not in his agenda. In fact, his agenda consisted of finding shelter from this horrid, pounding rain, and safety from his pursuers.

The Yato were fierce trackers. They wouldn't relent his trail so quickly, and he knew very well the lengths to which they'd follow. Luckily, the rain he should have been so accustomed to — but ultimately hated — would play the role of his ally. It shielded and washed away his scent every passing moment, every tick of his internal clock.

He knew not where he was. Zenshi counted the cobblestones beneath his feet, and when they gave way to gravel, and then to muddy dirt, he continued to synchronize his breathing with his footsteps.

Shots.

There was a searing pain in his leg, but he evaded quickly enough to avoid the second and third. He had left his umbrella somewhere; no idea where, though.

Hopefully, the sun would just rise from behind those clouds and zap all of them to pieces. Or so he dreamed. He continued running, zigzagging down dark streets and crossing dank alleyways.

"Young man," called a tired voice.

Zenshi froze.

"Young man, if you seek shelter, you can just come in already. You've been standing there for ages."

He had? Zenshi whirled around, unsure of how far he'd run and for how long.

"Weary travelers should by wary of people that offer sudden stays," he said in haste.

"Yes, but you seem in no condition to turn me down." An old woman, standing at the door of her shop, folded her arms. "I have given shelter to more than one stray cat. Trust me."

Seconds, seconds, seconds. Zenshi weighed the risks and the benefits, and threw them all aside when his internal clock sounded its urgent alarm. He needed to go, and soon.

He accepted, gratefully ducking past the woman into the shop.

Zenshi found himself engulfed in a strange sort of warmth. It smelled of sake and fried rice, but he supposed that didn't matter. The maid at the bar wiped at the counter mechanically, and the second employee, a mannish cat-woman with a squared jaw, offered him a drink.

"They've been chasing down the strays lately," mused the old woman, closing the door. She gestured for him to sit at the bar. "They won't notice if I suddenly have another housecat, though."

"It would be wise," said the barmaid suddenly, her voice uncomfortably robotic, "to carry an umbrella in such downcast weather."

Zenshi looked away. His hand, clasped around the glass that had been handed to him, withdrew hesitantly.

"That's true," he agreed. "But I lost mine on the way here."

"How sad," said the maid.

"Yes, it is."

And the clouds continued to weep.

* * *

><p>be glad these chapters aren't as long as <strong>Emeralds<strong> ones, lolol.

that one's on hiatus...for a longgggg time. *nervously laughs here*


	3. - Three -

Whoo! I promised myself that after writing this and ch. 4, I'd do homework, so... yea.

**TO THE KIND GUEST WHO HAS BEEN REVIEWING:** thank you a ton! I really appreciate the reviews! I know the skipping around thing is confusing, but I want it to be hard to follow. (lol). But yes, thank youuuu anyone who reviewed! It makes my day :)

**IMPORTANT NOTICE: **I made a mistake in ch. 1. The assassin who attacked Zenshi didn't die, he was simply wounded and then ran away real fast because y'know, people tend to do that. (my mistake, I had Zenshi stab him in the wrong body part lol)

**DISCLAIMER: **Ohhh Sorachi-senseiiii these characters belong to youuuu except Zenshi but I suppose you own his race too XD

NOW. I PRESENT MORE CONFUSING TIME SKIPS FOR YOU!

if you're confused about ages and times and what the heckie is happening, I may clear up at the end.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 3 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

There are bright blue eyes gazing at him, and he is not sure he is comfortable with the disconcerting sapphire hue twinkling innocently at him. The child's hand is wrapped firmly around his finger, and the child giggles. But all he can feel is the pulsating Yato blood of the little boy, hidden within veins just beneath that thin, pink baby skin.

"Hello," Zenshi says. His voice is flat, lacking inflection. He is sometimes told that if he continues to fail to communicate like a normal person, he will never become a successful man like his father.

He doesn't necessarily care, though.

The toddler giggles. Zenshi, however, does not even spare the child a smile.

"Zen," his mother chides gently, "we're just having tea. You're welcome to join us."

The uneasy flicker of his own blue eyes is easily read by his mother. Well-accustomed to his silent ways, she has long since learned every single gesture and its meaning.

"Well then," she decides, "please keep an eye on Kamui."

Kamui, however, does not need to really be looked after. At the moment, his small hands are still grasping Zenshi's, and he is all smiles and blue eyes.

Zenshi realizes, then, why he dislikes those eyes so much — perhaps, even by just a shade, it is because they were far too similar to his own.

Eyes of a Yato.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"And _that_ is where the Night King Hosen used to live," Seita announced, priding himself on his extensive knowledge of the City of the Night. Having abandoned its old name, Yoshiwara stood in broad daylight, the skies open to all. "Mom lived up there, too."

Zenshi had nothing against the city, but he was uncomfortable to say the least. The open air sent a hundred aromas, a hundred auras, a hundred colors to his vicinity. He could not shake the habitual itch that percussively strung his nerves; the itch that pulled him around in a wary circle to survey his surroundings and assure himself that no one was tailing him.

"What do you think? Nice, huh?" Seita spread his arms, and then put his hands on his hips. "Welcome to Yoshiwara!"

Zenshi offered the boy the smallest of smiles — he was not unkind, after all — and put a hand on the child's shoulder. The gesture, however subtle, was soaked in by Seita, who grinned and began down a new road. Zenshi swung his umbrella to the other hand, lamenting his lack of light but finding calm in the soothing shade of his parasol.

He convinced himself, eventually, that a pair of blue eyes was not following his every move.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWELVE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The Amanto has a vengeful grin and several weapons strapped to his person. Zenshi will not forget the face that hissed in his own that night, several years ago. He will not forget the rotten, putrid scent of that alien's breath down his neck as his eye was nearly gouged out. Not then, and not now.

"_You_," hisses the Amanto, his scaled skin bristling. "Of all people, I run into _this little boy_?"

Zenshi brandishes his umbrella. He is stoic and silent, pretending he doesn't care.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" But he does know the Amanto, and he's going to kill him right there, right then, right now.

"The little politician's boy," scoffs the Amanto. Hit for hire is written all over his face, all over the steady stalk in his stride, his calculated distances. "Shall I finish the job?"

Zenshi fires, but underestimates the other man. He suddenly feels scaled skin on him, the same as it was when he was just a boy and too cold with fear to feel a thing.

"I'll make sure to gouge your eye out nice and good this time, yes?"

The man must be insane. He must.

There is a scuffle, and Zenshi pushes the man away with a strangled shout. He feels the knife veer away from his eye, but it drags across his nose and down his cheek, and he is screaming murder.

His father runs out into the plaza, horrified, and he is followed by an Amanto ambassador who calls for his embassy's police. Strong arms pull Zenshi away from the man, but it's too late.

The knife is sitting squarely in the Amanto's chest, his heart — Zenshi made sure not to miss this time.

And from the corner of the courtyard, a pair of blue eyes alight upon the scene. He smiles his smile, and then erases it; but not before Zenshi sees.

A little wave and a hop, a skip, a step, and Kamui is gone.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

Smoke stung his eyes and nose, but he ignored it. He also disregarded the short kunai poised at his throat, blade leaning against his skin.

"You underestimate me," she said. Pointedly, she rotated the knife in her hand. When he didn't so much as bat an eye, she recalled her weapon. "Yer not afraid of anythin'."

Was it a question? Or a statement?

"No. There are still things," he said simply.

"Like?" Tsukuyo staked the kunai decisively in the wood of the windowsill, grinding its blade into the oak rim until its splintered.

"Many things." Zenshi took the hint and backed away from the window.

"Like what yer tryin' to run from? What is it? _Who_ is it?" She gripped the knife handle harder. "I appreciate ya tryin' to get away before ya bring trouble, but at least tell us why."

His lips were dry; his eyes flickered out the window, and back. Tsukuyo was sharp, and she caught on quickly to his gestures. She did not, however, follow his gaze.

"No one you need to concern yourself with."

"All right, tough guy, suit yerself." Tsukuyo offered her kunai, handle first. He took it. "Don't die."

"No promises," he warned, voice soft. He touched the windowsill and ducked through it. He felt the need to repair the window, but relented and allowed Tsukuyo to do as she wished. The only reparation to his humble heart was that he did, at least, know their names.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Tuesday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

"You sleep lightly." A weathered, calloused hand passed over his face. A surge of panic threw itself from his stomach to his throat and down his spine, but he grappled with the fear until it subsided into a dull shiver.

"Otose-san," came a strange, husky woman's voice. The cat-woman. "His temperature's finally gone down."

He felt the hand press against his forehead — he could see nothing, as a cool towel had been placed over his face — and then retract.

"Since you sleep so lightly, you might as well get up and eat." The towel was pulled away, again, revealing the old woman. "Tama makes a mean breakfast."

He quickly absorbed his surroundings: his hands first itched for his missing umbrella, and then his eyes quickly calculated the time it would take him to register a threat at the front door and depart from the back exit before the building was surrounded. A tad lightheaded, he found that the dimensions of the little shop were disconcertingly bobbled, wavy.

"Don't move too quickly," the woman advised. "Your wounds will reopen."

He pressed a hand to his shoulder. The spot where the bullet grazed him was sore, but felt healed enough to move full through its full range of motion. His left leg, on the other hand, was stiff and ached like a bag of rocks had been poured under his skin. The bullet itself had been expertly extracted — in fact, he believed that the mechanical barmaid was inspecting the smashed metal — and his leg was wrapped up in neat gauze. The wound had closed, for the most part, and experimentally stretching didn't cause him too much pain.

"The window's locked," deadpanned the woman, without turning. "So don't try any funny business."

The Yato, slightly miffed, let his eyes slide to where the cat-woman was wiping down a booth. She shot him a haughty glance, which he promptly disregarded. He rocked back onto his heels and stood slowly, testing his leg. It was stable enough, so he entered the open parlor of the shop.

"Would you like orange juice or apple juice?" asked the green-haired android.

"Neither. I won't be stayi—"

"Get him some water, Tama," cut in the old woman. "He'll be staying whether he likes it or not."

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

The seamless transition with which the silver-haired samurai guided his slow, relaxed movements into ones of casual caution caught Zenshi off guard.

"You know," said the other man, gaze slowly sweeping the area, "there are some nasty looking fellas over that-a-way." He jerked his thumb behind him. "With fancy umbrellas."

Zenshi shot the samurai a wary glance. "And you are?"

"Probably a neighbor." The samurai shrugged. "Tell Tsukuyo that Yorozuya says hello, will ya?"

Zenshi stiffened at the name, but then guardedly assumed that if he was a friend of Tsukuyo's, then he would probably be of no threat.

"Gin-san," called a young boy, a teen about sixteen. He wore simple spectacles and had a simple cut black hair; he wore an uncomplicated striped light blue _keikogi_ and matching _hakama_; he was the epitome of plainness, to say the least. "There are some suspicious people hanging in Otose-san's place. Kagura-chan's afraid to come out."

"Eh? What?" drawled the samurai, very casually sticking a finger up his nose.

"Gin-chan!" came a shrill cry. "Gin-chan, there are _creeps_ under our house!"

They whirled around to face the building — atop an old shop that Zenshi would have only recognized in the dark — to see a girl sticking her face out, waving her arms frantically. A man from the shop below emerged, and the girl, alarmed brandished a purple parasol.

"Kagura-chan seems a little bit overworked," commented the boy with glasses.

"Patsuan," sighed the silver samurai. "Look."

He gestured toward the men with umbrellas.

The boy visibly paled, and was about to say more, but Zenshi was not around to hear it.

He'd disappeared into a corner, moving far, far away.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOURTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He looks into the eyes of the newborn girl, and immediately decides that he likes her. He is thirteen years old and has hair down to his shoulders, loosely tied in the back. He holds the baby, who cries softly, because his own mother is clasping the hand of the child's mother, and his aunt is tending to all the things that she tends to.

"You are weak," his aunt says crisply. "Drink some water for now."

"My baby," whispers the woman. She is a beautiful woman, with long, cerise hair, vibrant like a red rose. Her arms trembling, she raises them to accept her child into her arms. Zenshi passes the baby over, and the newborn ceases into soft gurgles.

"It's too bad your husband isn't here to see his daughter," sighs Zenshi's aunt in a low voice. "Where is he this time?"

"Near," says the new mother. "He promised to come home soon. He sent a letter yesterday."

At that moment, a man bursts through the door, looking agitated and disheveled. He's got straight, defined features that Zenshi would have easily picked out on the man's son, except this warrior has hair like black ink and it messily falls across his face.

"Am I late?" he asks, still panting.

"I'd say it's better than nothing," replies his wife, smiling. The man strides over and gingerly brushes a strand of his beloved's hair behind her ear, gazing down at the baby.

"And we agreed on a name, right?"

"Yes." The woman beams, and the two are caught in a quiet, intimate moment as the others recede to the edges of the room. Zenshi wonders if he should speak to the boy, the fifth figure present in the room before the Yato man arrived. He even considers giving the boy a nudge forward — it is his family, after all.

But he doesn't need to, because the boy's mother calls him over. Standing beside his mother and father and newborn baby sister, the boy looks like a striking blend of both. He curiously peers into his sister's face.

"Say hello to everyone, Kagura," whispers the mother, cradling the baby to her bosom. "Everyone, say hello to Kagura."

The father is bent over the child, smitten, but the boy seems confused. He is almost forlorn, and when he raises his eyes to meet Zenshi's, there is something that Zenshi will not see in the boy for a long, long time.

Something that may possibly never surface from the depths again.

Zenshi hesitates to call it love, but he supposes that nothing else will suffice.

* * *

><p>Okay! I promised I'd clear up a little bit.<p>

Hereeee it goes. A little vague overview.

_**PRESENT:**_Zenshi decides to leave Tsukuyo and Hinowa's place, where he's been taken care of. Go go go Zenshiii.

**_Two weeks ago:_**So presumably, he's running from some particular people. Seeing as he almost ran into them, you can assume they are Yato.

_**Twelve years ago:**_Zenshi is fifteen (wow I made him kind of old but who cares I actually think Gin is almost this age?) and that one assassin dude, who is on a different job, runs into our young Yato. Goes insane, or already is, and tries to finish his first attempt at gouging out Zenshi's eye. Fails, and Zenshi ends up with a big scar across his face (see the art on my dA).

_**Fourteen years ago:**_Zenshi's aunt is the maid who attends to Kagura's mother, also serving as a midwife. Obviously, Kagura is born.

_**Seventeen years ago:**_Zenshi's around 10, and Kamui is about 1. Oh Kamui. Gosh, Zenshi, you're like a decade older than him, WHY DON'T YOU MAKE HIM LISTEN TO YOU ALKDHGLAKSDJFLAHGLKajdsf.

that's all for now!

might spit out one more chapter before I resign to hw. OTL.

There goes my New Year's resolution of actually doing hw lol.


	4. - Four -

I NEED TO DO MY HOMEWORK GOSH DANG IT.

But anyway, this chapter is a little more fun. It was difficult because I suck at dialogue and Gin's dialogue is just freaking hard to write. WHO KNOWS WHAT WILL COME OUT OF THEIR MOUTHS?! I was really tempted just to have Shinpachi say "_DONDAKEEEEEEEE!" _the entire time. But no. This is a story.

SO. A little change in pace for y'all - less serious, more random conversation. Kind of a filler thing.

AND different points of view, just for fun.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gintama or any of its characters. I especially do not own the Neo Armstrong Cyclone Jet Armstrong Cannon. (c) Sorachi-sensei.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 4 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Gin-chan, who was that?"

"Dunno."

"He ran away real fast, yes?"

"Guess so."

"Gin-chan!"

"_What_."

"There are still creeps under our house."

"You mean Catherine? Yeah, I know."

* * *

><p><strong>.: Wednesday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

The rain had long since stopped. The sun on this planet tended to scorch the earth when it decided to present itself fully, rays extended to every corner of every nook and cranny. Merciless, because the sun's enemies were the same.

"If you need directions," said the man beside Zenshi, "I can give them to you."

Zenshi cast the other person an emotionless glance. The man seemed resentful, but not of Zenshi.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"All right." The man, whose shaggy brown hair obscured a majority of his face, rubbed his bearded chin with an exasperated sigh. "It's too hot for this month."

"Is it?" Zenshi replied. He felt no obligation to converse with this man, but there was nothing better to do, seeing as they were both sitting outside a lonely train station. Zenshi, in all honesty, had no clue where he was going. The city called Edo was massive, and because it wasn't a monotonous system of rainy gutters and apartment buildings, it was immensely foreign.

Then again, traveling the world with the Harusame was just the same.

"It's the middle of April. It should be sunny, but not like this," complained the man. "With spring flowers and bunnies and stuff. You know, the like."

"I suppose," Zenshi offered. Nevertheless, he preferred the sun to the rain, despite the uncomfortable prickliness of its rays on his skin.

"That way," said the man — now that Zenshi briefly observed him, he appeared to be a ninja of some sort — "is the police station. Don't go there, they're idiots. And that way, you'll find some nice restaurants. Over there is Kabukichou, where you'll find idiots, more idiots, and a nice cabaret club if you'd like."

He was rambling now, to pass the time.

"Do you like dango? There's a nice dango shop over there."

"I've never tried."

"It's good, in Kabukichou. Just don't go to the Odd Jobs place, they're crazy." The man burst into soft chuckles, amused. "Well, I guess they're all right in the end."

"Odd Jobs?" echoed Zenshi, curious.

"Yep. Run by a good-for-nothing samurai named Sakata Gintoki," explained the ninja. "Hard to miss. Has curly, silver hair. Looks lazy."

"Sounds familiar," Zenshi replied.

"Probably. He's got two employees, but they're more like siblings. A glasses wearing a human, real boring kid, and a crazy alien girl who can eat ten pounds of rice a day and break steel with her little fingers." The ninja laughed again. "Fun bunch."

"Sounds like it," murmured Zenshi, looking away. His interest, however, did not fade even when the train whistled its arrival, and the two parted ways.

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, SIX MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

Between Kamui's complaints that the latest assignment had been _the most_ boring thing he'd ever done and Abuto's quiet ramblings about how no one ever cleaned the ship, Zenshi watched. They'd completed their last task easily; it had taken them till the end of this month, when the Earthlings put on funny guises and handed out candy, and the Yato dug out their stale, leftover moon cakes from a month ago to nibble on.

"_Danchou_," Abuto called flatly, "we've got another assignment. Next month."

While Kamui lamented the wait, the crew members breathed a sigh of relief. They had, at most, two weeks to loosen up. Zenshi felt tight as a cord, his shoulders eternally sore and his fists unconsciously balled up till his nails bit into his palms.

"Where are we headed?" came the call. It was one of the petty officers, hanging at the threshold of the cabin door.

"Earth," announced Abuto, gesturing lightly for the man beside him to relay a command to the bridge. "Our blue and green firefly in this dank and dark universe."

"I heard it's sunny there," a crewmember called. There was a round of terse laughter, and a clap on the back.

"Sun equals fun," Kamui said, hopping down from his bizarre post atop a dresser. "You know, _that_ old man lives there."

"And we probably would want to cause _that_ old man trouble, right?" Abuto added.

"Oh, you're missing _all_ the fun," sang Kamui. He flipped his red braid over his shoulder and exited the cabin, heading for what appeared to be the starboard side of the ship.

"Where's _he_ going?" muttered Abuto under his breath. Zenshi looked up.

"To see his last moments in darkness."

At this, Abuto smiled.

Zenshi didn't smile back.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

It was not unlike a Yato to sniff out another. He had not slipped but five blocks when a series of familiar, jarring voices entered his range of hearing. Forcing himself into a casual walk, Zenshi melded with the noontime crowd, bustling about the shopping district. He was a tall man, and thus mostly stood out from the people. Grateful for the few, out-of-place Amanto that towered over the humans, he dodged behind them.

"Gin-chan, buy me _that_."

"We don't have money, you idiot."

"You know, somehow I feel like it's because we never get paid. Just an idea, though." The bespectacled boy folded his arms tersely and jabbed his companion in the ribs. The girl followed suit, except she hit the samurai so hard that he doubled over in pain.

"Gin-chan, what's wrong?" she asked bluntly.

"Kagura-chan, I think that was a bit too much," sighed the dark-haired boy.

"Kagura, Patsuan, I leave the family inheritance to you," croaked the silver-haired samurai, passing out on the ground. At this, the two children made mock cries of indignation, and the pair started to kick the poor man on the ground.

"All right!" cried the samurai at last, curling up in a ball to defend himself. "I'll buy it, okay?! Just stop kicking me!"

"Who was kicking, yes?" sneered the girl, propping her umbrella on her shoulder. She very intently turned to stare into the crowd, eyes seeking Zenshi's. "Hey, you! Come here and help a girl in need! She needs to carry her old man to the dango shop!"

"Kagura-chan, that's a bit much, too," grumbled the boy.

Zenshi froze, staring right back at his fellow Yato. When she repeated her request in the same, plaintively flat voice, he complied. Had it been anyone else, he would've ducked back into the crowd.

"Most girls don't talk to strangers on the street," he said, approaching. The boy looked wary, but the girl had a serious face.

"I looked for any guy who looked strong enough to carry this fat robber," she explained, kicking the samurai in the shin. He howled in pain and then pulled himself to his feet grumpily.

"Um, sorry, but who are you?" asked the glasses-wearing human.

"Oh, it's you," said the samurai.

"Oh, it's you," echoed the redheaded girl, just to irk their third companion, who was on the verge of popping a vein. Desperately, it seemed he wanted to be included, but could never do so.

"Don't copy me," said the tallest member of the trio. He shoved the girl, who shoved him back. "I am Yorozuya Gin-san, pleasure to meet you. Who are you again?"

"Didn't you just say, '_Oh, it's you_'?!" spat the boy with glasses.

"This is Shinpachi," continued Gin, jerking a thumb at the boy and ignoring him at the same time, "and this is Sadaharu."

He then pointed to a gigantic white dog that for some reason, Zenshi had failed to notice prior to this engagement.

"Can I introduce myself?" muttered Shinpachi, looking completely accustomed to being overwhelmed by these antics.

"No," declared the other two simultaneously.

"And this is—"

"I'm Kagura, yes?"

"Kagura, I told you not to talk to strangers, yet here we are!" Gin threw his hands up. "Who are you, again?"

Zenshi was unsure of whether to be amused or to be downright offended; he decided that no reaction would serve him best.

"He's Zen-chan. Wow, you're slow today," Kagura snorted, scuffing dust onto her friends' shoes with her own.

"Did he introduce himself?" asked Gin. "I think not. Don't just make up names for people."

"No," cut in Zenshi, growing tired of their meaningless exchanges. "She's not wrong."

"Kagura's a mind reader?!" shouted Gin into the sky, turning quite a few heads in the process.

"No, Zen-chan's my neighbor."

It was then that Zenshi understood the true scrutiny of human beings — intense, aggressive, and unbelievably useless.

"I like your haircut, Zen-chan," said Kagura.

Zenshi, for what he could muster, smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Wednesday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Kamui eyed the torn umbrella with half distaste and half disappointment. The smell of rain and dirt permeated the air, even though the sun bore down on him with hellish vengeance. Twirling his own parasol above his head, he ambled down the relatively vacant street without aim. The dull plodding of Abuto behind him was less comforting and more irritating than anything.

"Abuto," he said, curtly.

"Yes, _Danchou_?"

"Get rid of that umbrella for me."

"You got it."

There was a clunk, a clatter, and a crash — Kamui didn't look back.

* * *

><p>I was struggling with Zen so I threw a bunch of miscellaneous character PoVs your way.<p>

Zenshi has been on standby since chapter 3.

WAIT NO thAT'S Z URA.


	5. - Five -

UM. Procrastinating is bad, bad, _bad_, folks!

Guh have this. It's half background half awkward Gin.

**Disclaimer: DONDAKEEEE! as you were before, yes? (Sorachi owns Gintama, Zen is my Yato brainchild)**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 5 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

There was nothing but a pure thirst for blood in those blue eyes. Even as he sat there and consumed incredible amounts of food, Kamui was a threat. Abuto knew it, Zenshi knew it, and most of all, Hosen knew it.

"Tomorrow, we'll head down there and see him in person," Kamui said through a mouthful of rice. "Zen, wanna come with us?"

"I'd prefer not to," Zenshi replied flatly. There was hardly any room for argument, but to his surprise, Kamui shrugged.

"Suit yourself." One of those devious smiles again.

"It's warm in Edo, isn't it?" mused Abuto aloud, rubbing his wrists absently. "I think it's nice. What about you, _Danchou_?"

"The food is good," came the typical reply.

Zenshi stood then, reaching for his umbrella. He nodded at Abuto, who dismissed him quietly with a casual wave.

The sun was, at the moment, unbearably pleasant.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Well?" says Kamui, his eyes glinting. "It's yes or no, there's no in-between."

The alley is dark and the offer is tempting.

No. It is _not _tempting — it is chokingly forceful.

"What," says Zenshi flatly, "is an eleven-year-old boy expecting out of this?"

Kamui has a maniacal glimmer to his blue eyes; they glow in the shadows and reflect nothing, yet absolutely everything. He asks Zenshi, rather plainly, what the older Yato thinks.

"You're leaving behind your mother and sister," Zenshi reasons, ignoring the question.

"What, are you going to say that I'm the same as my father?" Kamui smiles, and immediately, Zenshi knows that he's treading on thin ice. If there is anything they have in common, it is a dysfunctional disconnect from their fathers. The wedge that both drive between themselves and their paternal branches is pronounced.

Silence won't serve him well, not now.

"No," Zenshi amends quickly. His voice doesn't waver, but he knows that Kamui has caught wind of his nervousness. "But don't you love them?"

At this, Kamui pretends as if he's listening to a foreigner babble.

"Love them? Zen, I'm asking you to join me, not to lecture me."

The redheaded Yato squares off with the older one. Zenshi, well aware of the fact that his stoic, prolonged silences will not sit well with the younger boy, grimaces inwardly.

"The _Harusame_,though?"

"Yes."

There is such dead seriousness in Kamui's eyes that it physically hurts Zenshi to glance back at where the boy lives.

"Your mother is sick," he attempts one last time.

"And you think I don't know that?"

And there it is.

It's probably the last time he'll ever see it, but Zenshi remembers it well.

Though, even now, he hesitates, but he'll still call it love.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

The room was a comfortable abode, with an old mahogany desk and little decorative embellishments that spelled the occupant's very essence. The enormous white dog nuzzled Zenshi's elbow; he cast the creature a plain glance and petted its wide forehead.

"Sadaharu likes you, yes?" commented Kagura, from the couch.

"Watch out, that thing will bite your head off," snapped Gin, standing beside his desk with his arms crossed.

"So, Zenshi, right?" Shinpachi said, offering their Yato guest a cup of tea. Zenshi politely declined with a mild shake of his head. "How do you know Kagura-chan?"

"I told you, we're neighbors, yes?" insisted Kagura, rubbing the dog's nose when he padded over with a hopeful whine.

"Neighbors?" said Gin, sinking into his chair and propping his legs up on the table. "Back on your home planet with Mr. Baldy?"

"Back then, Papi wasn't bald." Kagura thought for a moment. "He was _becoming_ bald."

"And how long ago was that?" asked Gin.

"Seven," Zenshi said, suddenly. "Seven years ago."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The cold emptiness and desolation that he sees reflected in his mother's eyes is something he realizes he'll regret for a lifetime. The night is still, and he follows his path by the incandescence of the moon through the windows. He has few belongings: a few pairs of clothes, his typical umbrella, a pair of hunter's boots, and an old golden locket and chain his mother gave to him when he was young.

But even so, she has an uncanny sixth sense that informs her of her son's movements.

"I've heard the rumors," she says, softly. She has a voice like a bird, a soft, songlike lilt and accent that he could never derive. It was comforting, familiar, yet always different. "I never thought you'd be part of the group."

He had lived here for twenty years. He spent the past few years studying whatever it was that his father wished for him to go into; he had even apprenticed the galaxy's most impressive lawyers and politicians. He'd shaken hands with the President of so-and-so, the ruler of a this planet and that planet.

But never once had he acted on his own.

He thinks he is a puppet.

"You don't talk to me anymore," she adds. It's only an attempt to guilt him into staying, one last grab at her son. It's understandable; she's sad, she's desperate, she regrets nearly as much as he does.

"I have always talked to you, Ma," he replies.

She holds back a choked sob, because he hasn't called her "_Ma"_ in many, many years. With his scars had come a sense of maturity, and for her the title of "Mother" instead of his beloved _Ma_. She treasures her little boy, even though he now towers over her and wields an athletic grace that she and her husband would never amount to. He is sleek and aloof and fox-like, blue-black like the sky with pale skin like the moon. She no longer knows who he looks like; she only knows his name.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed," she says. She meets his gaze with a forlorn one, wanting him to know that she is truly saddened. But the gentle clasp of her hands accompanied by her gentle tone lets him know that she still loves him. She has the blood of a Yato, dimmed by her motherly instincts, lulled into daily housework and undying devotion to her family. She is, in fact, someone he wishes the entire population could reflect — and sadly, it cannot.

"I know," he replies, a hint of a sigh in his voice.

"You'll visit," she tells him, more of an order than a request or a question. "And if you get married, you'll come back here first and introduce me to whoever it is, all right?"

At this, he must smile, because it is his mother and she's one of the very few who have the ability to make him burst into unexpected laughter.

"When do you leave?"

"In three hours."

"All right." She beckons him closer, and he strides up to her, leaning down because she has her arms outstretched and he is too tall to embrace standing upright. She strokes his hair, which has been recently cropped short, towards his ears. Even though the strands of black do not stay, as they used to, she continues to softly run her fingers across his temples. "Be careful. Promise?"

"Of course I promise."

"Visit when you can."

"I will."

"Take care of your friends, okay? So that one less parent will worry."

He tries not to stiffen, but she knows, and he knows — they are talking about Kamui.

"Take care of Kagura and her mother," he replies hoarsely, because he finds that even though he hasn't seen the girl down the street in ages, there has not passed a day where he runs an errand for the girl's ailing mother. "Give Auntie my thanks."

"I will."

She kisses him on the forehead and presses a bundle of intergalactic currency into his palms.

"Be safe."

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

The crewman beside him visibly shuddered when their captain and co-captain returned to the ship. The younger had blood all over his clothes, crusted on his hands, embedded beneath his nails. On the other hand, his older partner, leaning on the captain, was missing an arm entirely. Both looked harried, but Kamui looked more amused than fatigued. As if his expression was anything otherwise.

"Sir," a petty officer exclaimed in a strangled voice. "Your arm."

Abuto rolled his eyes. "It's just a limb, old sport. It's not my head."

"We've received word for next assignment," the officer continued, slightly wary of Kamui's unusually sharp gaze. Abuto brushed off the fact that the boy dumped him in a chair and stalked away, picking at his fingernails like some aggravated cat licking its paws far too intensely to be normal.

"What is it?"

"It'll involve raiding a city on planet Sciuttla."

Abuto made a face that spelled disgust in every corner, and then sank his head into his hands. Zenshi simply strode over and set a glass of water down beside the man. He also very emotionlessly ripped the gauze off of Abuto's accidental amputation. The older Yato hissed, his good hand gripping the glass until it nearly broke.

"I understand you're a decent medic, but at least tell me if you're going to operate," Abuto snarled through gritted teeth. Zenshi said nothing; several crewmen guardedly withdrew to their respective corners. Zenshi very quickly reviewed whatever his aunt had told him about amputation, and sat back with a dissatisfied harrumph.

"If you're up to severe pain, I suggest you lie down."

"And?"

"If you're not up to severe pain, I still suggest you lie down."

"Can't you just call the medic?"

"He's dead."

"He's…what?" Abuto frowned, first at Zenshi and then at his arm. The bloody stump, which had been badly bandaged and constantly soaked with pus, had been cut cleanly and carefully. The bone had been shaved smooth and makeshift clamps had secured major blood vessels. "Was that a joke? Is this a joke?"

"Yes, the first was a joke. The second, however…" A third voice, the voice of a bespectacled old Yato with a limp in his step and a skinny umbrella hanging off his arm, entered the room. Their ship doctor. He surveyed the work with a moderately impressed nod. "How in the world did you do that so quickly without him noticing?" He approached Abuto and studied the wound. "Ah, you made a good incision."

Zenshi grabbed his umbrella and stood.

"I'll leave the rest to you. The muscles are difficult to shape, so I supposed a professional would have been better."

"How do _you_ know how to amputate?" Abuto called after him. "I learn something new about you every day, don't I?"

"So it seems." Zenshi propped his umbrella, unopened, onto his shoulder, and brushed past the awed crewmen congregated at the door. He turned, offering Abuto one last reply: "The answer, however, is magic."

Abuto smirked. "And I suppose the magician won't reveal his secrets?"

"Never."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He contemplates throwing himself off the spaceship, just to see where he'll go, but he doesn't realize that he's actually falling.

It's only when a strong, calloused hand grabs his arm and hoists him on board that he realizes he has only tripped off of a ramp.

"You're not going to last long if you're that clumsy," chuckles the man who saved him. Zenshi looks up and finds himself looking into a somewhat familiar, somewhat unfamiliar face.

"Thanks," he offers, because it would be impolite to remain silent with people unacquainted and unaccustomed to his silence.

"Any time, bud." The man, obviously Yato, jerks a thumb at his chest. "Abuto, co-captain of this leaky boat."

"Zenshi."

"I know who you are," Abuto says plainly. Zenshi, on the defensive, awaits the comment of how similar he looks to his father.

"You're the boy who stabbed the living daylights out of an assassin. I remember."

Zenshi doesn't know if he should relax or remain tense. "I suppose that's one way to put it."

"How would _you_ put it, then?" Abuto folds his arms, hooking he handle of his umbrella on a large, tooled belt.

"Defending myself."

"Ah." Abuto runs a hand through a nest of shaggy, light brown hair. "Well, bud, those are some mighty fine defense skills you have there." He pats Zenshi on the shoulder, nonchalantly. "Hope you didn't forget them at home."

"I wouldn't imagine it," Zenshi replies, under his breath.

He has made an ally, but he will not know this for a long, long time.

* * *

><p>because I tend to confuse people:<p>

_**Seven years ago:**_Zenshi joins a young Kamui in the Harusame.

(my headcanon is that Kamui joined when he was young, when Kagura was young, because he was such a skilled fighter)


	6. - Six -

Sometimes I don't know what I'm writing.

**Disclaimer: Sorachi-sensei is da creator and owner all hail sorachiiiiii**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 6 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

_Traitor._

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"You're sure you're not hungry?" Shinpachi offered, out of the kindness of his polite, plain heart. The boy was so unbearably courteous — was this their special guest treatment? — that Zenshi felt the urge to flee. But at the same time, he was curious as to how Kagura was faring in her new, bizarre dwelling.

He held up a hand, declining again.

"So, what have you been doing in Edo?" Gin asked. Truly, it was more of an interrogation, but Zenshi didn't mind, even though he wasn't all too comfortable with too many words.

"Hiding."

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

"And where are you going now?"

"Somewhere."

"Can you get any more vague?"

"Probably."

"Hey Patsuan, I'm tired of this guy. It's your turn." Gin stood and motioned for his bespectacled employee to sit. Shinpachi, wary of the samurai's intentions, sank into the couch opposite Zenshi deliberately slowly.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging at the door. Grumbling about how door-to-door solicitors were becoming too cocky and impolite these days, Gin trod over to the sliding door and opened it.

"Gin-san! Everyone!" came a young boy's voice.

"Oh, Seita-kun!" exclaimed Gin, a broad smile lighting his face. "What's up?"

The boy was immensely distressed.

"It's terrible! Yoshiwara was attacked!"

* * *

><p><strong>.: Thursday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

"Take this, and run. I grabbed it from your room."

A familiar bundle of cash and clothes, along with an old blue umbrella, was shoved into Zenshi's arms.

"W-why are you doing this for me?" For the first time in his life, alarm showed clearly on his face, and his heart beat like the thundering hooves of racehorses. The clouds had had a sudden change of heart, and instead of drifting away peacefully as was forecasted, they returned with a hearty vengeance. The rain was hard and heavy and each raindrop stung his skin.

"Just _go_." A one-armed shove, and Zenshi was thrown into the next alley.

When he looked up, Abuto was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

Perhaps _attacked _was an overstatement. Three "suspected" homes were raided, and the shop where Seita worked was turned completely upside down. Zenshi cursed himself twenty times, and then twenty times more.

He thought that returning to this city would throw them off his trail.

He thought that his bait, sent to the faraway corners of the universe on the tails of major trading companies and allied pirates, would relinquish him from their grip.

He _thought_ he could outsmart the Yato, the Harusame's 7th Division.

And he was horribly wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Thursday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

He was stuck in that alley for a good ten minutes, drenched in puddles and rain and mud. He clutched his belongings to his chest, feeling like the little boy he had supposedly surpassed a decade ago.

A heavy block of metal slipped from his haphazardly folded clothes and hit the ground with a clang and a splash. Zenshi grabbed for it.

His mother's locket.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

He smelled it right away. The moment the scent hit him like a brick, he knew, and Kagura knew, exactly what was laid ahead.

"Get down!" screamed the girl, grabbing her dog's collar and wrenching him away from the door when they reached it. Gin and Shinpachi threw themselves to the street, and Kagura herself hit the floor within the next millisecond.

Zenshi, however, could not.

He threw himself in front of Seita before the bomb hit.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Thursday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Because even though nothing could ever pay for saving his life, Zenshi firmly believed in repaying debts.

He left the trinket of gold on the counter of the old woman's shop.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

A woman hoarsely cried Seita's name, but before Hinowa could reach them, Tsukuyo had grabbed the woman and pulled her away. The former courtesan's legs dragged on the ground until Tsukuyo tripped and they both sprawled across an upper level balcony. The bomb had ravaged most of their home, reaching the upper levels of the shop but not the portion where the two women had hastily scrambled.

Seita was incomprehensible, babbling nonsense as he realized who was braced over him. Zenshi balled his right hand into a fist, tearing the shrapnel from between his knuckles. The rest of his body, along with Seita's, had been shielded by his old but trusty umbrella.

"A-Aren't you—"

Before Seita could utter another word, several police officers burst out of seemingly nowhere. With a calculated glance, Zenshi counted fifteen uniformed men raiding the building.

A man with a cigarette loosely clenched between his teeth strode over confidently.

"You," he said, to no one in particular, "have just found our latest target."

Target?

"Are you trying to tell me we nearly got blown up because of _you_?!" Now, Gin had leapt to his feet and had grabbed the officer by the cravat. "_You people_!"

"Don't touch me," hissed the other man, blinking through a wisp of smoke.

"Oh, _Hijikata-kun_," snarled Gin, "I'm _so_ intimidated."

The man spat his cigarette to the ground, ground it with his heel, and raised a fist as if to strike. Before either could make a move, a string of fast, sharp kunai came hurtling their way, and they leapt aside.

"Ya just blew up our house!"

Tsukuyo's face was dark with rage, and every time she brandished another kunai, someone cringed.

"No, it was a terrorist," reasoned the police officer.

Terrorist. _Terrorist_. Zenshi turned the word over in his mind. Terrorist — _not_ the Yato. Could this have just been a freak accident? Was that kind of thing even possible, let alone probable?

"I could care less," she hissed, wrapping a hand around another knife.

"Tsukki," murmured Hinowa, left kneeling beside a now-safe Seita and Zenshi, who discreetly covered his bleeding hand with his good one, "we don't want a misdemeanor against the police, please."

Tsukuyo, disgruntled, lowered her weapons and stepped back.

"Y'all gonna pay for this mess?" She gestured at the blown up front of the little parlor.

"S-sure," came the wary reply. Probably, the police officer reckoned that a general insurance against crazy terrorists would do, but who was to say that Hinowa had that kind of thing? This was, in fact, a former city buried beneath the earth.

Tsukuyo whirled round then, ready to scold Gin and Seita when she spotted Zenshi. Her eyes flew from his face to his hand, which he supposed wasn't actually all that discreetly hidden.

"Are ya gonna stand there and tell me yer hand ain't injured?" she said tersely.

He would chance a shrug, but instead, Zenshi just stared at her, blinking slowly.

"Are you," he replied slowly, "going to tell me that you're not going to suffocate me with bandages again?"

He could not tell if the ruddiness of her cheeks was from rage or embarrassment. Zenshi would, very logically, assume the former.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Sunday, LAST WEEK :.<strong>

"You would think," he said, "that the son of a politician is smarter, yes?"

Zenshi knew he had been caught. He knew it from the moment he stepped into Yoshiwara that they had him strung in a thick network of traps and lies. No, he'd known this the day he stepped aboard that massive Harusame ship.

He never liked to call himself a _pirate_.

"I'd like," Kamui said, from his post atop a building, "to see you _run_."

Five Yato, all crewmen that Zenshi recognized, leapt out of dark windows. They tossed their cloaks and came at their target in unison. Zenshi's gaze shot up to Kamui one last time — he sent the boy a wide, wild grin — and fired one shot at the crimson-haired Yato.

And then, he ran.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Um. How does everyone know you?" asked Gin, rather uncomfortable with the fact that his friends in Yoshiwara were acquainted with Zenshi, a clear foreigner.

"Zen-chan's famous, yes?" Kagura stated, as if it was common knowledge. Gin simply looked miffed, and Kagura continued. "He's got connections everywhere. Do you know some guy named Hata?"

Zenshi shook his head, ignoring when Tsukuyo very harshly extracted a sliver of metal he had not bothered with. She slapped on a roll of gauze, stopping only when he grabbed her wrist and gave her a look that spoke of his dislike of mummy hands.

"I picked'im up in a gutter," Tsukuyo explained. "All torn up and dyin'."

"Not quite," Zenshi apprehended, though reluctant to speak up.

"Not quite? You were on heaven's doorstep," Tsukuyo hissed. Zenshi shut up, as he was very apt to do.

"Death's door, eh?" drawled Gin. "Never fun. See a _shikigami_?"

"I would hope not," Zenshi replied.

"Because," Gin continued, "there's one right here." He nodded at Tsukuyo, and then reflexively ducked for the incoming barrage of shuriken.

"I guess we're in line for hell then." Zenshi withdrew his hand, avoiding the glare that Tsukuyo issued both of them.

"It's better than nothing," Gin laughed.

_Better. Really?_

* * *

><p><strong>.: Sunday, LAST WEEK :.<strong>

He recognized the man. They played checkers on Saturday nights when the ship's crew was idle. Zenshi would have been tempted to say he saw no kindness in the man's eyes, that he was a ruthless killer like all other Yato, but he would have been lying. The man's pang of sympathy, of pity, tightened Zenshi's core like a creature curling in on itself. Defeat.

As a solid fist collided with his jaw, Zenshi struck out with his heel. The back of his boot landed a good hit on the man's collarbone, but a bullet grazed Zenshi's right side. There was a flash of black, and then both hit the pavement.

Jarred by the landing, Zenshi staggered to his feet, hands gripped around his umbrella in a typical defensive fashion. He had taken out two of the five pursuers, but the remaining three slipped in and out of his battle range at arranged periods of time. As one recuperated, the next would leap in on a blind spot, giving Zenshi no time to rest. There was always someone watching him.

Politics.

He immediately thought politics, to his dismay. His father, at the dinner table, often spoke of knowing one's opponent ten steps — no, twenty steps — ahead in the game. Zenshi supposed that this was how his father won so many elections, how he became such a big name diplomat. From a clan and a race of fighters, such negotiation skills were impressive.

Zenshi stopped waiting for them to come.

He started to hunt them, instead.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

He finds himself running for his life. His head is, inevitably, now on the target lists of his many, many space organizations. His pursuers are not the type to take betrayal lightly, not at all.

He has just made an enemy out of the largest crime syndicate in the galaxy.

* * *

><p>I'm a lazy writer, sorry. -sweatdrop here-<p>

but HEY

HIJIKATA CAMEO!


	7. - Seven -

WOW this story actually GOES somewhere! Somewhat.

**TO THE GUEST: **Thank you again for reviewing! It makes my dayyyyy ~ I'm glad you like reading this, haha :D

This couple has really grown on me. I'm a hardcore GinTsu shipper, but then I made an OC for Gin, felt bad because I love love love Tsukky, so I made an OC for her...at first, I wasn't really all that big on Zenshi, but I grew really fond of him (c'mon, badass Yato OCs!) and now they're my CanonxOC OTP!

**Disclaimer: GINTAMA and all the Dondake?! moments belong to Sorachi Hideaki. Though I'd really like if (and this better not happen!) someone like Takasugi dies, for their last words to be along the lines of "AT LEAST GIVE ME MORE SCREENTIME, YOU WORTHLESS GORILLA" or something. That was inspired by lovely tumblr user 20pi lol.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 7 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: Sunday, LAST WEEK :.<strong>

He drove an elbow into the fourth man's back, despising the fact that his blood boiled with a relishing gush of warmth when he heard bone crack beneath him.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

Between the irritated police officer — whose name, Zenshi learned, was Hijikata Toushirou — and the ever stony-faced Tsukuyo, the smoke off of their cigarette and pipe, respectively, was pungent and thick.

"Well? Did ya catch'im?" Tsukuyo asked gruffly, glaring daggers toward the man opposite her. Hinowa had offered him a cup of coffee out of what could be salvaged from their now-meager kitchen. He took a sip.

"Yeah, a few blocks down," replied Hijikata. His eyes shifted from Tsukuyo to Gin to Zenshi. "The police commissioner will review your case and see to the damage."

"So this was a terrorist attack?" exclaimed Seita, popping up between Tsukuyo and Gin. "Who was it? What gang? Was it the Joui?"

"That's classified, kid," growled the dark-haired man. "Besides, there's plenty of Joui running around. You can probably just guess."

"Oh, definitely," interrupted the younger officer seated next to Hijikata. He had plain, brown sugar hair and flat eyes that conveyed all the sardonic exasperation of his years in one derisive stare. "After all, you've got a big name terrorist right next to you."

"I'm _not_ a terrorist! I am a good, model citizen," Gin cried, throwing his hands up.

"Oh no, _danna_, I wasn't talking about you." Without further elaboration, the boy stood up and, with his hands in his pockets, walked away whistling a simple tune.

"Will we be reimbursed for the damage?" asked Hinowa. "Or are there going to be carpenters for repair?"

"As I said before, the police commissioner will review your case." Hijikata stood up, casting a somewhat worried glance out the door, and thanked Hinowa briefly for the coffee. "Sorry for the trouble. Have a nice afternoon."

"Hey!" called Tsukuyo. "Ya haven't mentioned the fact that we nearly died."

Hijikata stopped, turning to look over his shoulder.

"But you didn't, did you?"

At this, Tsukuyo growled under her breath about rotten tax thieves — causing the Yorozuya crew to chuckle behind their hands — and rather violently pushed away from the table. Chair legs screeched against floorboards, scraping up dust and ash and debris. She was most likely put off by the fact that there were shards of metal littered here and there, along with broken glass and what used to be Hinowa's favorite ceramic mug.

The police commissioner had better move fast, or Yoshiwara's queen would come knocking down his door.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Space, he finds, is horribly endless. There's no telling whether they are going forward or back, left or right, up or down. The myriad of stars and planets and passing spaceships becomes a pool of dead fish to him. All are the same.

If he leapt off, he would not fall.

He would only float into oblivion.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

Zenshi found himself — as he often did — following the Yorozuya trio back up into the regular streets of Edo, leaving behind Yoshiwara.

To his surprise, Tsukuyo decided to accompany them as well.

"I have business with the Oniwabanshu," was her curt, unquestioned explanation.

"Oh, do you and Sa-chan want to go shopping or something?" whistled Kagura, trotting alongside the taller woman. Tsukuyo answered with a negative, and Kagura went along with her own train of thought, babbling about how fun a shopping trip would be, and how someone named "Soyo-chan" would have enjoyed a day out of the palace, etcetera, etcetera.

"Well, here's where _we_ leave," Gin said, stopping.

"That's a casino." Tsukuyo glared.

"Nice meeting you," Gintoki said, laughing nervously as he turned to wave at Zenshi. He narrowly avoided a few kunai, and then ducked into the entrance, the sounds of a hundred slot machines ringing as the door closed behind him.

"Shinpachi, he left us, yes?" Kagura deadpanned.

The only thing that really remained of the boy was a dangerous glint to his glasses.

"Yes, yes he did."

* * *

><p><strong>.: Sunday, LAST WEEK :.<strong>

The fifth Yato grabbed his throat and pushed him to the ground. Zenshi's umbrella spilled from his right hand and clattered a few feet away. Before his assailant could wrap a second hand around his neck, Zenshi struck a rigid fist into any spot of soft flesh he could find. The man grunted; Zenshi flipped them over so that he was straddling the man, dealing quick, concise blows until there was no consciousness left within his opponent.

He stood, wiping the blood from his mouth and nose, flicking it onto the pavement.

Suddenly, a searing pain tore through his left side, through his abdomen. It was forceful, yet not sharp — burning with the poison of a thousand snakes, yet aching with a slow, reluctant reaction.

Zenshi looked down and saw a hand struck straight through his body.

He didn't have to turn to know who it was.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"What're _you_ doin' with those idiots?" Tsukuyo asked sharply. She was in a clearly bad mood, but he was neutral enough of a character to keep from grating on her nerves.

"Following."

"Are ya gonna follow me, then?" She looked more exasperated than truly annoyed; she didn't mind his presence, but she wasn't intending to babysit, either.

He let his gaze trail from her face to the nearest building, and then back. Slowly, so she had to wait. His right hand, poised lightly on the hilt of his parasol, tapped a light beat with his fingers.

"You are," she affirmed. Sighing, she turned around again. "I guess ya can. I'm just goin' ta see a few acquaintances."

Zenshi followed, trailing a few steps behind her, sometimes appearing to accompany her, and sometimes appearing to be completely lost on his own, wandering. They walked in uneventful silence; Tsukuyo, completely focused on her destination, and Zenshi, completely immersed in the sensation of knowing forward from back, left from right, and up from down.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Sunday, LAST WEEK :.<strong>

"You're a dead man."

The hand retracted, slick and warm with blood.

"Am I?" Zenshi swiveled to face the boy, who appeared to be studying his artfully gory hand in the waning light. The crimson had a delicate, nauseating appeal. Zenshi pressed a hand to the wound, but only found himself to be bleeding openly. "I don't feel dead."

"Not yet, Zen," Kamui replied. "You have to be patient."

"Patient?" Zenshi echoed. He blinked slowly and then stared Kamui in the eye, unwavering. If there was anyone who wished to find the most patient man in the world, they would have found him in Zenshi.

"Sometimes, I wonder if your name should be _patience_," Kamui laughed. "But instead, you're a politician's boy who thinks he's a warrior."

"And you are the son of the universe's strongest." Here, it wasn't a compliment. Here, it was meant to tug at Kamui, to jab at his emotions. Zenshi thought it unwise to provoke the boy, seeing as he was already in a murderous mood, but this was the only way to hunt Kamui. "The son of a once-beautiful queen."

Kamui's blue, blue eyes glinted dangerously. The sapphire pooled darkly, his cheerful aura disintegrating beneath the blood that ran rampant through his veins.

"The older brother of a little girl who still loves you," finalized Zenshi. "I know, Kamui, and you know. _Everybody _knows."

"No," Kamui whispered, his voice threateningly low. "_Nobody knows_."

He came so fast that Zenshi hardly had time to react. Kamui's hands, which were so powerfully solid that they came forth in battle like razor blades, skimmed his shoulder. The pressure exerted by those bloody fingers was terrifyingly immense. Kamui could, and would, slice up a man with his pinky finger.

Zenshi dove for his umbrella, scooping it up and then pushing away. He scrabbled, however, on the pavement before Kamui landed beside him. The boy was light and nimble, stalking with a predatory glance like a hungry wildcat.

"I've never seen you smile, Zen," Kamui said, advancing a few steps.

"Are you sure?" Zenshi ducked and parried Kamui's next few strikes. Where the boy was strong, Zenshi was solid. Where the boy was fast, Zenshi was anticipating. Kamui could overpower Zenshi and even defeat him with the lightning speed of his strikes, but Zenshi had, as Kamui had mocked of him before, more patience than any fighter. He had the patience to coldly calculate Kamui's next moves, to take the next millisecond, no matter how close, to anticipate and defend.

"I'm sure," Kamui answered. "And you always just run away. Aren't you going to fight?"

"Perhaps." Zenshi knew Kamui well, which was yet another advantage. He knew the younger Yato's tendencies: the speed of his kicks, and angle of his rotation, the extent of his flexibility. There had been enough training time in their youth and on the ship for Zenshi to acknowledge his former captain's strength.

He did not, however, ever lose in the mental game.

Zenshi was, after all, a politician's son.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Aren't you the guy I met on the train?" asked the ninja, looking perplexed. "Aren't you the Yoshiwara woman?"

"Aren't you," growled Tsukuyo, "going to get Sarutobi like I asked?"

* * *

><p><strong>.: Sunday, LAST WEEK :.<strong>

There had been too much blood lost. Zenshi had successfully managed to dodge and apprehend Kamui's vigorous attacks, but there was a limit to how long they could fight.

"Captain!" came the anxious call.

"_Danchou_!" hollered Abuto. "_Danchou_, we have to leave!"

Kamui, hissing, paused briefly.

In that moment, Zenshi lunged forward with such wolfish blood thirst that Kamui was caught off guard. It was typical for the dark-haired Yato to suppress the naturally murderous aura that his bloodline seemed to emit. His demeanor was calm, cool, even-headed.

So when he went for Kamui's throat like a wolf for the jugular, the red-haired Yato missed a beat and did not defend in time.

Kamui flew into a building down the road, bricks cracking and windows shattering from the colossal impact. Structures rained down on the boy, and he momentarily struggled to free himself from a gigantic metal beam that collapsed. When the roof began to crumple in on itself, Zenshi heard the boy curse loudly and scramble for an opening.

The building engulfed him whole.

Several Yato crewmen ran to their captain's aid, but Abuto did not. Instead, he strode directly to Zenshi. The younger man balked, skittering defensively away from Abuto even though the whirling black dots in his eyes threatened to pull him to the ground. He was becoming nauseous, the increasing number of wounds draining the blood from him far too quickly.

"Whoa there, bud," Abuto murmured, as if soothing a spooked horse. "I'm not gonna go for your head, you can relax."

Zenshi only stared.

"I want you to run, but not towards Hosen's former place. Anywhere but there. We're running into police trouble, so I need you to hide. Got it?" Abuto placed a firm hand on Zenshi's shoulder. "C'mon, bud, you're not bleeding that bad! Man up and go."

There was a painful shove, and then Zenshi was fumbling with his umbrella and sprinting down the street, dodging into an alleyway before an immense thunder of metal and stone alerted him of Kamui's emergence from the ruins.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Monday, LAST WEEK :.<strong>

There were voices.

A woman bent over him, smelling of tobacco and flowers and something strange he couldn't put his finger on. Smoke stung his eyes and nose, but he was not conscious enough to make sense of it.

A warm, slightly rough hand grabbed him by the arm, hauled him from behind the trash cans. Dust and debris was brushed off of his bloody clothes, and he was propped against a thin, lean frame.

He vaguely remembered the flutter of maple leaves, interspersed among strands of silky blonde hair.

* * *

><p>whAT the heckie how do you write battles XD<p>

Also - I always interlude with the present, just to throw you off.

*evil laughter*

Well, it's not so evil, so...

*crazy Sakamoto laughter*


	8. - Eight -

UWAH have this before I do homework!

This one's more about the Tsukki and Zen interaction!

NINJA CAMEOS!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gintama, yadda yadda, same business! Here we go :D ARUARUARUARU ARU ARU DE GOZARU**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 8 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: Tuesday, LAST WEEK :.<strong>

His consciousness returned arbitrarily, fleeing when he attempted to wipe away the blurred line between awake and asleep. Feeling like a creature made completely of lead, he could hardly lift his head, his arms, even his fingers. A soft, cool towelette was placed on his forehead. A light breeze skimmed his torso as someone applied chilled salve to his wounds.

All this registered as cold, warm, and cold again. He witnessed flashes of occasional white and flutters of black — someone's yukata, maybe — but mostly he awaited the pain. Given he was of Yato descent, he expected relatively progressive healing, but his ability to stay awake was so pained that he worried that such would not be the case.

"I think he'll regain consciousness soon," came a soft, very feminine voice. "I'll go out to the pharmacy for more general painkillers."

"He's healin' fast," came a second. "He probably won't need'em."

"Healing fast? He's ripped up!" cried the first woman. "I'll buy them anyway."

A soft, lulling pause. He waited for his awareness to clear, for the blurred cloud to rise and exhaust itself as a bubble of clarity took its place. Nothing happened.

"You said you found him…where?"

"The Hyakka called for me, sayin' someone was injured in the west alleys."

"How do you think he got there? And those wounds? I wonder who he is."

"He's carryin' that umbrella. I'd say Amanto, for sure."

"Like…Hosen?"

He felt his mind struggle under the familiarity of the name, but none of his muscles contracted in recognition, and he could not muster enough strength to even open his eyes. Thoughts turned to slush almost as soon as they entered, and the name folded in on itself until he'd forgotten it entirely.

"Seems like he is."

"Poor boy," lamented the soft-voiced woman. "I wonder why he was there alone."

Alone. Was he alone, again? Had he been alone, before?

And he felt the pain, then. The throbbing emanated not from his cuts and gouged flesh, but from somewhere tapped deep within his chest.

He could not quite think of the word, and it escaped him with a regretful hiss.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"You need me to _what_?" asked the lavender-haired woman, her glasses slipping halfway down her nose and she comprehended Tsukuyo's request. "Did you just tell me to tail the police? What if the police are tailing _me_?!"

"Sarutobi," Tsukuyo said flatly. "I'm askin' ya to find out more about the terrorist that attacked Yoshiwara today. Not the police. Is that a problem?"

"But _Tsukki_," whined the kunoichi, "that's the type of thing you do on your own!"

"I'm busy in Yoshiwara."

"And who's _that_?" Changing the subject abruptly, the bespectacled woman sashayed her way around Tsukuyo and came up to Zenshi, poking him in the chest. Without another word, she randomly touched his chin, then his cheek. He pretended not to be startled by her readiness for contact.

"Sarutobi," repeated Tsukuyo through gritted teeth.

"You didn't answer me. Who's this?"

"He can answer for himself."

"I'm the president of Planet Pheromones," Zenshi deadpanned with as straight of a face as he'd ever mustered. The woman stepped back, and he could have sworn that a hint of a smile graced Tsukuyo's lips. "A pleasure to meet you, Ms…?"

"Sarutobi Ayame," squeaked the woman, her interest piqued. "But Sa-chan is fine."'

Zenshi took note of her name, her nickname, and Tsukuyo's subsequent refusal to utilize the latter once the person in question was actually present.

"And so, Prince Pheromones," declared Sa-chan, "what brings you here with Tsukki?"

"We're negotiating on behalf of the shogun," Zenshi informed her, completely drawing upon absurd falsities. Tsukuyo shot him an incredulous glare. "And his favorite courtesan."

"Do you want me to stab you?" she shot out, suddenly, glaring daggers.

Zenshi lifted a bandaged hand, and shut his mouth. He was finding it harder and harder to speak less; the people of Earth were particularly amusing, particularly easy to converse with.

"Sarutobi," sighed the ninja man, who had been lingering in the background. "I'm pretty sure there is no Planet Pheromones."

"Of course there is!" she insisted, quite blatantly defending Zenshi despite the fact that the other man was undoubtedly correct.

"Hattori Zenzou," he said, at last introducing himself. He held out a hand, which Zenshi readily shook. "Head of the Oniwabanshuu, after my father, the previous head."

Sa-chan cast him a resentful look.

"Sarutobi will gladly take on your job," he went on. "Right, Sarutobi?"

The woman tossed her hair over her shoulder and adjusted her glasses, looking rather put off but relinquishing her seemingly stubborn outlook on general jobs.

"If you put in a good word with Gin-san for me, I'll gladly do it."

"Why are ya askin' me?" Tsukuyo snorted.

"Because you _like_ him, don't you?" There was a very unnerving glow of evil in the kunoichi's eye, brimming with something like jealousy stirred into a melting pot of mischievous masochist mayhem.

Tsukuyo flushed deep red. "I do _not_."

Sa-chan merely waved and turned on her heel, laughing with a little bit too much enthusiasm. The blonde courtesan, on the other hand, simply slapped an initial down payment into Zenzou's hands and stalked away. Zenshi trailed cautiously, a good few steps behind the fuming woman.

"Are ya _still _followin' me?" she spat, whipping around on him out of the blue.

"Would you prefer I return to Planet Pheromones?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" He found inexplicable amusement in goading her, and suspected his utterly smooth, noncommittal politician's voice was driving her to the edge. It was, after all, one of his hated and loved skills. In the Yato world, the galaxy, these politicians weren't simply government officials — they were more like negotiators, lawyers of entire planets. He liked to note that they weren't the excessively tedious, boring type of lawyers. Instead, they were the type of people that eloquently swayed votes and opinions in elections and in court, like movie stars from far corners of the universe in all those popular dramas.

Tsukuyo, however, was having none of it.

"Shut it, or I'll stab you."

"I'm sure you will," he replied easily, falling in step beside her.

After a few minutes of silence in which Tsukuyo brooded, her heels digging heavily into the dirt, she chanced conversation again. She cautiously approached her words so as not to provoke another witty tease from him.

"Yer welcome to stay with us," she offered, eyes down.

"I appreciate it," he said graciously.

"We'll have to renovate a bit, though," she added, grimacing slightly.

"It's fine. You will have acquired a decent bomb detector, I will say."

She threw him an accusatory glance. There it was again, the streak of snarky witticisms that she would not have expected.

Zenshi would have been the smart-alecky boy, the talkative classmate, the one who made the most interesting comments. But he turned out to be a silent child, one who probably made such remarks inside his own head alongside the critical analyses of everyone who existed around him. No, more like the constant passage of information that simply confused him, rather than enlightened him. That was, after all, how he viewed the Yato.

"I didn't ask for a bomb detector." Tsukuyo drew her pipe from her belt, turning it in her fingers.

"Well now that you've obtained it, you must pay a certain price."

She looked over at him, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head at such an angle that he was tempted to feel mocked. She was imitating him.

"And?" she prompted, when he simply appeared to be between amazed nodding and silent spluttering.

"A sample of all the Earth foods you find enjoyable."

She stopped in her tracks, staring at him with a twitching smile, half baffled and half incredulous.

"Hinowa's homemade bento box," she said, once she regained her comprehensive faculties. "Start with those. You 'n Seita can have lunch together."

Now, it was Zenshi's turn to flash her the skeptical glance. Tsukuyo pursed her lips, rolling her eyes slightly as she turned and continued their way back to Yoshiwara.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Thursday, FOUR DAYS AGO :.<strong>

"Yer finally awake." Her unique accent threw him off, as he had been dreaming of a rainy home planet. He dreamt that his mother was the one regularly changing the cool, wet cloth on his forehead, and that his doting aunt had wrapped him up neatly in gauze. But when he actually came to, he was quite possibly mummified around his midsection; while the bullet wounds on his arms were wrapped neatly and cleanly, someone else entirely must've done the rest of his body because it was quite simply a bundle of bandages and pads and other miscellaneous medical kit supplies.

The woman kneeled to his right was slight but muscular, with toned arms and an upright posture. Her straw-colored hair framed her face, but most of it was drawn back and tied up. He first noticed the scars running along her face: one above her brow, horizontally, and one straight down from her left eye. It reminded him of himself.

"You've been sleepin' for nearly three 'n a half days," she told him, though his eyes merely wandered to the ceiling. "Yer lucky we found you."

"So it seems."

She appeared to be wary of his flat, uncaring tone, but went on nonetheless.

"You nearly bled to death."

"That's how it looks." Still a little disoriented, Zenshi found himself answering the most pointless of comments. Useless words were tiring.

"An explanation would be fine," she prompted, starting to display annoyance in her voice.

"Wouldn't it be?" he agreed, closing his eyes again. Awake was a state too taxing to maintain.

"It would," she said. He could almost feel her tension, the way she balled her right hand into a fist and assumed a nonchalant position.

"I'm grateful," he offered, hoping to amend his apparent rudeness. "For your help. I owe you my life."

"So it seems," she threw back dryly.

He decided, then, that she was not exactly a bad person, nor was she a good person.

Only someone slightly irritated by his sardonic demeanor.

And he was fine with that.

* * *

><p>Only a few exchanges in timeline, but I wanted to write more interaction!<p>

Comments, question, EXPLOSIVE REACTIONS?! Do tell, please! :)


	9. - Nine -

Whoop-de-doo! It's approaching midnight, and I have not started my homework.

I'm goooooooood.

**Disclaimer: Gintama's not mine, it's Sorachi's. La lal al alalalalalalaaaaa MAGICALLLL BANANA XD**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 9 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

Kamui is ruthless to the point where his fellow Yato tribesmen nearly buckle under his cruelty. The 7th Division is assigned to wiping out a particular city, for reasons classified by the top of the top brass, on a faraway planet called Sciuttla.

"This can't be the right spot," mutters a petty officer, swallowing. It's a simple place, a little town center bustling with colorful Amanto families, surrounded by comfortable suburbs of the most vivid hues. It's a beautiful planet, if not a bit disorganized here and there. The definition of a happy home.

"It looks like a retirement paradise," agrees another, noting the pearly gates of a closed community and the marbled white pillars of the mayor's office. From these solid, shining whites and creams come the defiant palette of greens, blues, reds, yellows, and everything in between. One woman, who has baby blue skin, is adorned with fuchsia scarves and evergreen boots. Her son, who has the same light blue complexion, followed in a fantastically yellow school uniform, bright as the sun.

"Why do we have to destroy this?" sighs the first, looking forlorn. He fingers his umbrella out of habit, as many Yato do. Placing a hand on the window, he suddenly notices the reflection of his superior behind him. Both men whip to attention.

"Lieutenant," he addresses crisply, "I did not notice you there."

Zenshi nods, slightly, and the two relax their salutes. Donned in a brilliant navy uniform, a Yato-styled outfit embellished with gold pins and embroidered borders, he is the picture of royalty. He wonders, sometimes, if Abuto ordered the flamboyant golden extras simply to push Zenshi up the ranks and assimilate his stature as that of a captain.

He certainly looked the part, many would say.

Kamui, on the other hand, resignedly refers to Zenshi's fanciful style as overkill. An "intergalactic diplomat's mask" is what he proudly came up with.

"Are we really raiding his place?" sighs the first crewman. "It's rather pleasant, yes?"

Zenshi, more recently accustomed to the various accents of their several foreign ambassadors, finds the man's Yato accent almost comforting.

"Yes," he answeres. "They have had…several squabbles that present a threat to their national security."

"Just paste some pink glue on it," mutters the second man flatly, all but content with their new assignment.

"If only it were that easy, Ensign Delong." Zenshi places a hand on the shorter officer's shoulder, startling the man. Deep cerulean eyes bore into plain brown ones. "But our captain prefers liquid of the red kind, the type you find in living bodies."

When Zenshi turns to continue his supposedly nonchalant stroll down the hall, the two men shrink into a huddle. Very faintly, Zenshi hears one of them say:

"And how unfortunate for us."

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

Zenshi proved to be the best carpenter's assistant that Tsukuyo could have asked for. Actually, the aggravated woman had simply become too impatient for the police's decision, and pulled the nearest Yoshiwaran builder to their door (which had been blown to bits).

"You two, come on in," called Hinowa from within. "I made lunch."

"There," Tsukuyo declared triumphantly. "You'll finally get to eat Hinowa's bento."

Zenshi failed to reply, seeing as he was currently hauling a chunk of drywall across the former parlor. The carpenter — who was actually just their neighbor a few shops down — had brought two practically useless Amanto as his assistants. One lounged on a chair, feigning exhaustion, and the other slowly hammered away at a poor, overbeaten nail.

The Yato eyed the section of wall the two assistants had been tasked with destroying. To his dismay, the entire thing was completely intact, save the section that had been damaged by the bomb.

"May I ask," he said, with dangerous patience, "why this wall is still here?"

Tsukuyo, who stood between Zenshi and the lonely table in the former parlor, followed his discontent glance. The one man, a young Amanto teen who looked relatively humanlike if it weren't for his fluffy yellow dog's ears and protruding tail, grimaced.

"It's too hard, we can't break it. We'll need to call in the boss so he can bring the big tools." The dog-boy nodded.

His coworker, another Amanto who looked quite like a giraffe with glasses, snorted a few incomprehensible phrases before adding, "And boss busy. Bother him is no."

Tsukuyo made a face, struggling to hear through the giraffe's thick, rolled accent that originated from the back of the throat. Zenshi, adept at interpreting the most alien of accents, simply sighed.

He very nearly stomped over to the wall, looking sour. Nonetheless, his face was completely blank. Tsukuyo, however, noticed a slight twitch to his eye, one that screamed impatience.

"No use, so walling, such hard," chirped the giraffe.

"If we can't break it, you probably can't either," sniffed the dog-boy.

Zenshi threw them a condescending glance, and then proceeded to smash the wall with a single strike. No, not quite — he simply rapped his knuckles harshly, as if knocking for the police that Tsukuyo so hatefully disregarded, and the wall split beneath his fist.

The two Amanto went silent in awe.

"Much use," Zenshi told the giraffe arrogantly, "no walling, such soft."

He received only a reproachful giraffe's bleat, and the sound of Tsukuyo's laughter.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

"Convict me of treason, I don't care!" screams the petty officer. He clutches the corpse of his friend, the pessimistic ensign. "Kill me! Do it!"

Kamui does not move. He is not the type to kill by request; he first preys on his target, watches them wriggle and squirm before going for the heart. Unless there is a readily available stock, he'll bide his time before his killing spree.

"You are _protecting_ the very asset that we're supposed to eliminate in this mission," Kamui says, mustering a jaded expression. "The destruction of this town, along with _that woman_—" he points at a woman, huddling with several colorful Amanto children, a little ways behind the crewman, "—is our purpose. And yet you _protect _her. A filthy, foreign peasant who runs a sad, rundown orphanage. It's the least beautiful thing in this village of rainbow vomit."

Zenshi finds Kamui's insults the most amusing to listen to. Sometimes, the boy with blood-stained hair can come up with the most chilling threats. But other times, he comes up with wordy little speeches he finds evocative. Zenshi would not like to be the one who tells Kamui that he's inadequate in this threat, though if anyone were to break any news, Zenshi would typically be the one.

"Yes," growls the officer through gritted teeth. "Yes I am. I have a son. Delong has a daughter. I won't stand to watch someone else's child killed when our own live on the money of pirate's dirty work."

"Why now?" Kamui prods. "Why not before?"

"Our children had to grow up, first."

"Oh, but have they?" Kamui picks up a broken umbrella — presumably Delong's — and twirls it. "Tell me, Petty Officer Jenhao, have you children really grown up? Can they defend themselves in this dark universe?"

A pause.

"Or have you simply accepted the fact that after you die, there may exist an _unfortunate accident _where your wife, your daughter, and your unborn son are all killed?"

Kamui's smile is colder than the blackest planets. He is the threat, the dealer, the god of death. While seeming like a rather blockheaded commander, he is, in reality, a killer Yato. He reads his men like books. He puts in time just to know his crew, to find their weakness and push and prod and inch deeper with his claws until he knows he's far enough to break them.

The officer is frozen.

"No," he says adamantly. He has lowered his friend, Ensign Delong, to the ground.

Then, as if struck by a revelation, Kamui turns and beams at Abuto. The co-captain is wholeheartedly mystified by the boy's excitement. Kamui then faces Zenshi.

"Zen, you kill him. I want you to kill him."

Zenshi is stunned to a staggered halt. His typical silence is prolonged, and he simply stares uncomprehendingly at the redhead.

"Abuto," calls Kamui lightly. "We're leaving."

Kamui, giving up a kill? Zenshi, almost wryly, wants to grab the boy by the shoulders and shake sense into him.

But when Kamui passes him, he is everything but changed.

_You cannot hide your blood from me, either._

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

Zenshi was impressed with Hinowa's cooking, with Seita enthusiasm in sharing his overflowing lunchbox, with Tsukuyo's lightening mood. For a short interval, he allowed himself a moment of relaxation, kneeled at a makeshift table. Actually, the little kotatsu that had been pulled out for momentary use was satisfying and warm, but strange given the opening of a warm season.

"You know," Hinowa noted. "You looks more like the type to wolf down your food, yet you pick at it so delicately." She noticed the wan, half-hearted shrug. "You don't have to be polite. We're all family at the table."

Suddenly, there was a pang of homesickness, of a horrible, wrenching desire to be the little boy that curled up under a blanket, watching an old film on New Year's day, with a woman who quietly hummed in his ear.

Hinowa was painfully like his mother.

"Thank you," he said, accepting another bowl of rice. He was no exception to the Yato — he, too, had a bottomless stomach. He just tended to ignore its grumbling more effectively than others.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

Zenshi reaches for the man, and the response is immediate. A fist flies for his face, but he catches it and instead of retaliating, he stuffs his wallet into the officer's fingers. There's not much left, but it will have to do.

"L-Lieutenant?" stutters the man, fumbling with the simple leather pouch.

"Take the money, the woman, and her children, and run to the nearest bus station."

"I—"

"Remember the mission. They're not just after this orphanage — they're destroying the whole town."

Shocked, fearful silence.

"Take everyone to the bus station and ride it all the way to the next big metropolis. Those are too large and too radical for takeovers. Do you understand me?" The words run out of his mouth like music notes along a staff, and he has never talked so fast or so furiously before.

"Why are you helping me?" whispers the other Yato. "Why won't you just kill me?"

"I am a living, breathing man of conscience before I am a Yato," Zenshi tells him, hands now on his shoulders. "Do you _understand_ what I've told you about fleeing?"

"I…I don't think I can do it."

"You are not a coward. You are a proud man." Zenshi grips the umbrella that the man has loosely clasped on his belt. "Protect them, and I will protect your family."

"And I'll return home, after it all?"

"Yes."

The man stands there on the line between breaking into sobs and ripping his hair out. The woman behind them is thanking Zenshi a million times with a million tears, and the children eye him with wet noses and lost stares.

"Petty Officer Jenhao, that is an _order_." Zenshi wrenches the man's attention back to himself. "And it is my last. Will you or will you not obey?"

When the words finally sink in, the Yato soldier is shaking. He raises light, calloused fingers to Zenshi's left cheek and mouths quietly:

"I hope my future son is as brave as you are, Lieutenant."

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

He realized that he'd have to go home, soon.

But the more he looked, the farther away "soon" appeared to be.

* * *

><p>So? Comments, questions?<p>

Also, please tell me if I set one tense and accidentally lapse into the other. I tend to do that A LOT.


	10. - Ten -

_**IMPORTANT!**_

I would like to thank you for reading and reviewing! It really makes my day, and so far, you've all been so kind.

I'd also like to point out a **certain detail** that the kind **Acabaya **pointed out to me:

I write Kamui as a very bloodthirsty character who seeks stronger characters to kill. At the same time, he is also a little out of character because he has been seen to show rare kindness (if you can call it that) in sparing women and children because the former can produce strong offspring and the latter can grow up to be more powerful than before. I found this to be very intriguing, a little problematic, but quite engaging at the same time.

I've been thinking, as I was before and after **Acabaya **sent me a very nice review.

While I do write about Zenshi, I also write a little about other characters, sometimes adopting briefly their points of view. As such, I do characterize and shape Kamui a little bit, suggesting that he may retain love for his family. In class, my English teacher (who is also a philosophy teacher) was talking of basic Freudian psychology concepts, in addition to the philosophy of human nature (and existentialism, and other things). What I'm trying to do here may not accurately reflect those studies and ideas, but I hope to embody a few of them.

**My ideas: **I want Kamui to illustrate internal conflict between his Yato blood and himself, just as Kagura has done on a greater scale. Kamui, however, is more confused and lost, if you may. His fears (if they can be called fears?) are deep and secretive, things he loathes to reveal in any form. As a result, he naturally succumbs to a few psychological defense mechanisms (this is based off my very brief, vague learning of a few Freudian concepts): he has moral anxiety, as well as other types (neurotic and reality, though that last one may be the least in proportion to the rest).

Kamui's reasoning for sparing women and children, in my own ideas, stems from kindness that he wishes to hide. He is reminded painfully of his family, of his mother and younger sister, but is in denial. He represses those thoughts and replaces them with an excuse of sorts. He demonstrates "rationalization," a defense mechanism that involves explaining some kind of behavior with a seemingly logical reason. He protects himself by saying that it is so women can bear more children, who will eventually become strong (potential opponents).

As a result, Kamui is fierce but unstable. He counteracts self-doubt with an overarching demeanor of strength, blood lust, and violence.

But, in my own head and my own world, I believe he still loves. So there's my idea!

_Please tell me what you think, why you think it, and feel free to share any other comments you'd like to add! Hope it made sense!_

Thanks for your time! ONTO THE STORYYYY.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gintama, but my ideas are freee to floowwwwwwww.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 10 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: Friday, THREE DAYS AGO :.<strong>

The slightest noise jarred him from his light sleeps, never allowing him to fall past a certain stratum of slumber. Yoshiwara, by nature, was most lively at night, and when dusk fell over the opened City of the Night, Zenshi gravitated towards the small, paned window at the far end of the room. The lights of the city glowed a festive orange, as if every night was a night for lanterns the color of dragon's fire. They reminded him of old festivals he'd gone to as a child, where an elaborate umbrella dance was accompanied by fire breathers and playful performers.

Children played in the streets, relishing the last rays of sunlight before night fell and, in a few hours, their parents called them in for bedtime. Zenshi watched a group of school kids kicking a slightly deflated soccer ball back and forth across the street. The ball wove from child to child, stuttering on the occasional pothole and rolling into some old man's shop.

A few minutes of watching satiated his interest in this little, glowing world, and he sent his gaze towards Hosen's old palace. Vibrant and thrumming with the night life, yet desolate and from an angle, almost filled with melancholy, it stood to the north. Lonely.

Zenshi became acutely aware of his setting, of the sounds below and the slight breeze that tickled by when he opened the window. The shift in the air of his temporary room, the slightest scent of wind and leaves, rain and the hint of smoke, alerted him to a second presence. He did not turn.

He heard the soft clatter of plates as she gently set his dinner down at the doorway, and then the woman with the hair made of straw spun into gold retreated downstairs, the rustle of her maple-leaf kimono fading gently into the hall.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

To be a Yato is to be a creature saturated with the blood of a killer. But it does not, however, dictate that the heart that pumps the blood must be empty.

As he is clinging to the side of another 7th Division ship, single-handedly blowing up all of their attack artillery, Zenshi wonders what kind of heart he has. He wears a dark ski mask and a brown robe. After tossing his shiny black boots in an abandoned warehouse, tucking his fine uniform somewhere out of the way, Zenshi had raided the clotheslines for the dullest clothes he could find in this rainbow nation. His umbrella, too, remains intact and hidden away, out of mind and sight.

No one shall know his identity.

He counts three cannons left on this ship, and because he is a creature of studious habits, he knows exactly how to disable and destroy them. Being a lieutenant presents more of a challenge than just having a pretty face and a voice easy on the ears. He has studied blueprints of Harusame ships, memorized their weak points, essentially in order to defend them. Now, he must attack.

Two, one, and then no cannons remain.

He only has one ship left, and that is the main craft. Their head battleship is a monstrous thing, emblazoned proudly with the Harusame insignia and armed with countless manned firing squads. He has but a small handgun and a few knives he picked up earlier. While he the majority of the destroying part is fairly simple in essence — he merely has to crush the smaller cannons and machine guns within close range — Zenshi cannot obliterate the major artillery forces with his hands alone.

And so, he proceeds inside the ship, leaving a blazing third deck full of snapped snipers and demolished cannons. Within the lengthy halls, he stalks from starboard to aft, where one major energy source is located. This one will power the ship's main electricity board, as well as the large-scale beam cannon located below the bridge, if only temporarily.

But, given that he's already done the most damage to the outside, the alarms are going off and there are men ready for combat.

He shoots none but one, who pins his body to the ground and has him in a choke hold, forcing the gun from his hand. Zenshi twirls the knife from his belt and jerks backward as hard as he can, feeling the blade dig into supple flesh. The man howls but doesn't let go of Zenshi. A few of the wounded are crawling back to their feet.

Suddenly, the blinding white lights that line the ship's halls flicker ominously — the constant buzz and hum of a powerful generator groans to a halt.

The lights go out.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

Upon Hinowa's request, Zenshi was obliged to take a casual stroll around Yoshiwara with Tsukuyo. Both, unsure of what exactly to do, simply meandered around the city as the lights began to turn on one by one.

"Have ya been to Earth before?" she inquired, between puffs of smoke.

"A few times," he replied.

"On business?"

He nodded.

"Shady business," she deduced bluntly, observing his dissatisfied expression. He nodded again. "Dirty work," she suggested. "Dirty deals."

"The filthiest," he agreed, appearing almost desolate. With Zenshi's expressions came a measure of neutrality, of blankness. He almost never fully expressed any one emotion on his face; only a hint was able to convey itself on his stiff, pale complexion. Zenshi had almost inwardly praised Kamui for his lack of apprehension when Zenshi had turned and produced a complete grin — and one consumed by blood, at that.

Tsukuyo, however, was learning quickly to interpret his small gestures and quirks. She noticed most of all that the path of his eyes told much of whatever story was being told. When his line of sight dropped from Hosen's old place to the ground, and then slowly rose to a shop's half-broken sign, she recognized a forlorn contemplation of sorts. She left him alone.

Only when the silence grew a bit thick did he bring himself to meet her gaze.

"I've been thinking," Tsukuyo started. "No one ever asked ya about family."

He pulled back his shoulders and squared them, looking tall but resigned. Uncomfortable, but not unwilling.

"My mother used to be a seamstress, a famous one with a grandiose shop."

Tsukuyo made a noise of acknowledgement, waiting for him to continue.

"My father is a politician," he finished simply, as if that was enough to construe definition of his home life.

"Politician? What type?"

"The rich and powerful type," he replied dryly. "The charming and witty and omnipotent type."

"Charmin' and witty," echoed Tsukuyo. "Sounds familiar."

But her attempt at cajoling a smile from him failed — she saw, by the sink of his shoulders and the stiffen of his step that he was all but pleased.

She wondered, briefly, if it was hurt or offense taken up in his deep azure eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

The darkness disorients them, and Zenshi scrambles to his feet, slamming his right shoulder into the wall unintentionally. He kneels quickly, swipes for his gun, feeling cautiously. When he picks it up, he simply starts running in the opposite direction. He knows the generator is off because the humming hiccups and cuts off with a deafening crash from one deck below. Now is the time to take out the four secondary beam cannons, run on the backup generators.

He has, to state a maximum, about two minutes before the emergency power system boots itself into place and lights up the entire ship again. Placed around the gravity core, an intricate multilayered system of backup generators lines the ship's lowest deck at center, so that attacks and malfunctions would have countless safety nets.

A screeching, ear-splitting grate of metal against metal throws him off balance. Luckily, the pursuers behind him also stumble ungracefully. Zenshi knows, solely by instinct, that something outrageous has just occurred.

Someone has taken out the gravity core.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"He is the political negotiator for many, many solar systems. He's the official diplomat of the Yato tribe, but prides himself as a lawyer of foreign royalty."

"That sounds amazin'."

"He is everything but."

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

The ship, stationary on the planet, does not suffer any major side effects — as in, people don't begin to float arbitrarily across the hallways — but the entire spacecraft rocks violently to the right. Two Yato are thrown heavily against the glass window, and the third pursuer accidentally fires his umbrella's gun.

Zenshi ducks and scuttles along the slanted floor, scrabbling as the ship continues to tip starboard.

"Run port, run port!" someone shouts frantically. It is the fretful announcer man, a young officer a year or so less than Zenshi's age, who makes the ship's morning, evening, and general crew announcements. His nasally, quivering voice is easily made out among the alarmed shouts and confusion.

Zenshi runs.

"Don't let him escape!" comes the cry, and Yato are closing in on him everywhere. It's difficult to see, and the setting sun outside fails to light up this side of the ship. He is so, so close: there are four beams, one of which should be the next left ahead of him.

Someone grabs his collar.

Zenshi slams the gun's barrel to the man's forehead, furious that he was not able to detect such an apparent presence behind him. The hood of his makeshift guise is thrown back, but he is befuddled because he stares directly into another hooded man's face.

"You take the two starboard, and I'll take the two port. Cut _all_ of the _green_ wires." A pair of heavy duty shears are pressed into his slackened arms. "Hey, bud, are ya listening?"

A firm, calloused hand lands on his shoulder, throwing him into shocking clarity.

The man tilts his head, just so that the waning bit of meager light can reveal his face.

"I've taken out the gravity core, but it's programmed to reset in fifteen to twenty minutes. Can you do it?"

"The question is," Zenshi repeats, in deadly calm, "can _you?_"

The question is pointless.

He is, after all, talking to the man who has become his mentor, his guide, his secondary father.

Abuto smiles, claps him firmly on the back, and takes off to cannons three and four.

* * *

><p>in retrospect, that little essay before this chapter was probably longer than the chapter itself.<p>

But once again, thanks for considering and reading!

Also, a thank you for the kind guest who keeps logging on to see my story.

_AND one more thanks to **Acabaya** - I have thought in great depth, and I really appreciate the review!_ Here is, by the way, more ABUTO THE GREAT!

*** AND I even pulled out my workbooks for reference, so thereeee! ***


	11. - Eleven -

HEY! Back from a stressful weekend. For now, some fun facts!

**Ch. 5: **Back in chapter 5, Zenshi says "I'd prefer not to." A little reflection from "Bartleby, the Scrivener" by American writer Herman Melville. (we were reading it in class, haha)

**Ch. 5: **Also in chapter 5, Abuto's "old sport" is inspired by The Great Gatsby...(I saw the movie during break, while I was sick, and now we're reading it class, lol)

**Ch. 8: **Zenshi makes a joke and says he's from the "Planet Pheromones". He is indirectly channeling Usui Takumi from _Kaichou wa Maid-sama_. (one of my favorite shoujo series because it's cute and perfectly cliche in every way ~ and it has an ADORABLE ENDING OMG)

**Ch. 9: **The two Yato crewmen, Petty Officer Jenhao and Ensign Delong, have Chinese names based off of my cousin and uncle, respectively! (how funny...fun facts x 2: My cousin is this extremely muscular athlete, while my uncle is the epitome of swag lol)

ALL RIGHT

STORY TIME

**Disclaimer: Gintama's not mine, but I love the fact that MUTSU IS A PIRATE! SakaMutsu ftw.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 11 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

It suddenly occurred to him that the silver-haired samurai was uncannily cognizant of everything around him, yet oddly oblivious.

"When I met you," Zenshi began, "you told me to say hello to Tsukuyo."

Gin, feet propped up on his desk, nodded. "Yeah?"

"But you asked everyone how they knew me after the explosion."

"Yeah?" came the same, starkly flat reply.

"Which is true?"

"You tell me."

Zenshi studied the other man's languid idleness, his purposefully lacking movements and calculated lethargy. The man was his own polar opposite.

"You are not a regular human," was all Zenshi managed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," snorted Gin, swinging so that his feet came down flat on the ground loudly.

"How much do you know?"

Gin twirled a pen between his fingers.

"Enough."

Zenshi strode up to the man's desk, looking him square in the eye.

"And enough means observing people beyond your welcome?"

"No," the samurai answered. He was not at all ashamed, but not at all defensive. The logic that poured from his tone and his expression was so full of past and reason and relation that Zenshi had no reason to deny him credit.

"It means," Gin said, "that I know how to protect my friends. I know when I should watch them, and when I should not. I know when I should tell them, and when I should not. I am, after all, Yorozuya Gin-san."

For the rest of the day, the name _Sakata Gintoki_, echoed in Zenshi's mind, synonymous with a creature who gave every penny and every ounce to the bonds he did not regret establishing.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

The explosions are deafening, and Zenshi discovers that his focus is spiraling away every time he trips over another corpse. The bodies spill across the ground, and to his horror, by the time he reaches the end of the hall, he realizes that his gun is empty and that he has dropped it several meters behind him.

Cannon one.

He wrenches the shears from his belt, where they hang loosely and thud dully against his thigh when he runs. His fingers fumble for the latches, opening the back of the cannon's operator and digging past the controls. He rips out a main hardware component and snips efficiently at the green wires despite the visible trembling throughout his entire forearm.

He is not afraid, he is not afraid, he is not afraid…

He repeats this mantra until all the green wires are split, until cannon two is also disabled, until Abuto appears out of thin air and takes the shears from his hands. He is led in a blur up to deck five, where Abuto pushes open a jammed sliding door and hurls the wire cutters down to the planet. He tears the half-ripped ski mask from Zenshi's face and confiscates his dark outer robe.

"Be in cabin one in five," orders the older Yato. "I'm counting on you to not mess up. Gravity core will be up in six."

"Your knee," Zenshi says, blankly. Indeed, Abuto's knee is torn up, causing a detrimental limp.

"I was attacked by the attacker, bud," laughs the co-captain loudly. "What else do you think happened?"

But Zenshi is concerned. The man who sliced through Abuto's tendons will remember.

And no one will be safe.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

He touched Tsukuyo's elbow, gently, experimentally, to see if she would turn. She did. Pointing at the skyline, he threw her a curious glance.

"It's beautiful," she noted.

Zenshi shook his head and shifted his hand.

"Not the skyline of the city, but the openin'?" She glanced up at the square of sky that opened Yoshiwara to the world. Her eyes fell upon the moon, where simple shapes winked back in serene silence.

"It's beautiful, too."

She observed the tall Yato with reserved apprehension. His head was tilted up to the glowing lunar sphere in the sky, his jaw long and square, his lashes reflecting a strange bluish hue.

He was a wolf, howling at the moon.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Saturday, TWO DAYS AGO :.<strong>

Well enough to walk about the premises, he studied. Constantly, women dressed in black masks and armed to the teeth with hidden kunai watched him. But all he did was sit on the back porch, finding a reserve of warmth gushing from the mother and child that conversed openly in the courtyard.

"The ship was _huge_!" exclaimed the boy.

"How huge?" asked the woman.

"_This_ huge!" And the boy danced, skipping circles around the woman bound in her wheelchair, the women who so freely smiled, even when she caught Zenshi's eye in the corner.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"What is the planet of the Yato like?" inquired Seita.

"Rainy. Dreary."

"What is your house like?"

"Rainy. Dark."

"And your family?"

"Stormy. Dark."

"All of them?"

Zenshi hesitated, staring the befuddled boy in the eyes so directly that Seita unsurely twiddled his thumbs.

"All of them."

* * *

><p><strong>.: Sunday, ONE DAY AGO :.<strong>

It was only when he was downstairs, sitting before the foreign family that welcomed him, that he realized he did not have his umbrella.

"Ya can c'mon in, ya know."

His stomach dropped when the hand so accustomed to gripping the hilt of his parasol grabbed at empty air, closing a fist around nothing.

"Do you like hotpot?"

Smiles, so many smiles. The woman's friendly expression emanated such a magnitude of light and warmth and he was nearly blinded. Slowly, unsurely, Zenshi approached the table.

"I wouldn't know."

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Do you have any siblings?" Seita ticked his questions off on his fingers, but not before stuffing a thick blade of grass between his teeth, as Zenshi often did.

"No."

"What's your mom like?"

"Small."

"What's your dad like?"

"Large."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Seita, who had been impressively tolerant of Zenshi's abstract answers, crossly folded his arms. It was getting late; the night had long since unfurled across the sky in dark magnificence, the moon full in all its glory. "Then what are you, medium? I don't get it," Seita sulked.

"I am a magician from the Planet Pheromones," Zenshi deadpanned.

"I thought ya said prince before," Tsukuyo called from the doorway. She peeked her head into the kitchen, soaking in the scene of Seita interrogating (once again) Zenshi at the small table. "It's late, Seita. Zenshi's gotta start bright 'n early tomorrow."

"Well, I'm a magician, too!" Seita said, rather indignantly. He did not know in what aspect he was a magician, only that he supposed magic was what made people cower in fear and cheer in awe.

"Yes, you are," sighed Hinowa, who had been quiet at the other end of the table. "You make smiles appear out of nowhere."

At that, Seita smiled, and forgot promptly about Zenshi's bizarre replies.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

He enters the officers' main meeting cabin with a feat of great acting rivaled only by the greatest. The door slams open by his palm, and his tidied demeanor is anything but. He hasn't had the time to retrieve his clothes, so his typical uniform cape is draped haphazardly across his shoulders. Blood drips from his nose and lips, and his hand comes away from his side stained with red. He had convinced Abuto to deal him several blows to the face, a few to the gut, and then he'd taken his own knife and driven it non-lethally into his own body.

"Lieutenant!" exclaims one of his immediate subordinates.

"I want intercom in the front," Zenshi orders, clutching his side very briefly before pointing at the large screen at the front of the room. "What the hell is the bridge doing?" The backup generators flickered to life within seconds of his arrival, and the low, buzzing tones of the main power cell soon return. A loud creak rights the ship, and the gravity core is on again.

The screen flickers to life, and Kamui backs up from the camera because he is too close. His face is splattered with blood.

This confuses Zenshi. He had been the only attacker, not including Abuto, his sudden savior.

"Hello, my lovely crew," sings the boy with crimson hair. He has dried blood across his right eyebrow, and the way it comes down over his eye resembles a scar. "It seems there are traitors left and right."

"What happened up in the bridge?" demands Zenshi, truthfully. More traitors? Had he not been alone? How had Abuto known, in the first place?

"I was just, well," Kamui says, throwing an indicative glance over his shoulder, "decapitating a few."

The crew is ominously silent. Zenshi wipes a streak of fresh blood from his lips.

"Zen, you look pretty beaten up," Kamui says, feigning a lamenting tone. "You know, I found some guys up here trying to disable alarms and cameras. It's too bad I was nearby when the first one went off. Looks like they didn't get that one in time."

Kamui smiles, picks up another man by the collar, and hauls him over into line of sight. "This one deleted the camera footage," he explains. "I killed him right away, but I actually wanted to question him."

"But you just happened to slice him in two, right?" Zenshi stares emotionlessly into the camera, his practiced mask of blankness falling into the place.

"You got it," Kamui laughs, tossing the former crewmember aside. "Hey, look at this umbrella. It's fancy." He lifts a burgundy umbrella with an elaborate design curled around the fabric in the shape of a glistening dragon. "I didn't know we had people who could afford these things."

Kamui pauses then, and off screen, they hear a bump and a door closing.

"_Danchou_," comes Abuto's voice, thick over the transmission. "You know I don't like killing our own."

"Oh Abuto," sighs Kamui, sardonically. He does not offer much to his vice-captain.

"This one," Abuto announces, appearing on screen to the right. "Was at cannon one, I believe."

A corpse is towed over to where Kamui is standing; Zenshi recognizes, suddenly, that it is the man he shot. Said man had been able to strangle Zenshi and deal a few blows before a knife was driven into his chest.

"Wow," whistles Kamui. "Ouch."

"You're a funny guy, _Danchou_," mutters Abuto, letting the man sink to the floor. He is not particularly kind, but Abuto does not disrespect the dead; especially not his own kind. Kamui, on the other hand, feels that a smile will suffice in parting with the murdered.

"Has anyone called headquarters?" Zenshi asks tiredly. Everyone shakes their heads, no affirmatives. "Do it."

"How bad?" Abuto inquires.

Zenshi shakes his head. _I don't know_.

"Call the tech," Zenshi suggests. "Evaluate."

"All right, you heard the man," Kamui chirped. "There's still a mission, after all." He hums rather contentedly to himself, bloodstained hands wiping nonchalantly on his slacks. "And here I was, thinking this would be another boring trip."

The screen flickers black, and Zenshi's shoulders drop in exhaustion.

"Lieutenant," whispers his aide, a slim, tomboyish Yato woman with hair cropped close to her head. "You're bleeding quite a lot."

He looks down; his own blood has pooled at his feet. Though his self-inflicted wound may have not opened a mortal wound, it still costs him a great deal of blood. Refusing to feel lightheaded, Zenshi strides smoothly to the door.

"Thank you for noticing," he says brusquely.

"Sir, if you need help, please ask," says the woman. "We can't have you dying on us, yes?"

Zenshi raises a hand, acknowledging her concern. He leaves the room with a flutter of his cape.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Friday, THREE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Abuto grasped his shoulder, hard.

"It is high time you get out of here."

They exchanged glances, and Zenshi knew.

* * *

><p>This one was hard to write. Kind of filler-ish.<p>

Anyway:

**NOTE: When it says "Sunday, ONE DAY AGO", it is lapsing into the "APRIL, PRESENT" from the first chapters, because about a day and a half (maybe two-ish, I believe) has passed.**


	12. - Twelve -

This story actually has a plot. Omfg.

Why couldn't **Emeralds **actually have a plot.

No but seriously, there's some stuff to come. WHOAAAAA.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gintama, but I do enjoy watching the Yoshiwara arcs. As I am now. Whooo Kamuiiiiiii. Whoooo Kaguraaaa. Whoo GinTsu scene that I still fangirl over hardcoreeeeeee.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 12 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: Friday, THREE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

He expected time, but the clock was hardly his friend. His hand just reaches the doorknob to his room when Abuto seizes him by the wrist. Zenshi inwardly curses, because he could never sense the older Yato's approach.

"There is no time, they're coming for you in your room," he hisses. "Cameras are off along deck two's aft and port sides. Go through down the back aisles and take the crew stairs, not the regular ones."

The spacecraft was designed luxuriously, almost in the style of a cruise ship. Zenshi knew its dimensions and configurations well.

"You still haven't told me," Zenshi insisted, stubbornly immobile. "Who else was involved?"

"A lot of people just like you, bud," Abuto replies quickly. "A lot of people."

"_Who_? And _how_ did you know—"

"There is _no_ time," Abuto growled, clenching his jaw. "Run. Now."

The voices that began to creep around the hall grew louder. Zenshi, abandoning all common sense, strained against his screaming instincts and shot down the path that Abuto had delineated, with nothing but his umbrella strapped to his side.

* * *

><p><strong>.: End of MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

"_One fifth of the crew rebelled, yet no evidence of a ringleader…" _

****There is nothing like the drone of an interstellar reporter's voice to grate upon the nerves of several tense Amanto pirates. Kamui glares at the screen with half amusement, half distaste. The bridge is clean, but there are spot traces of blood still lingering on the poorly scrubbed floor.

"The code team still has not retrieved any lost footage," Abuto narrates over Zenshi's shoulder. The dark-haired man has clipped the mute button for the news, and Abuto remains reading the captions that flash below the purple-skinned reporter's face. "A leaked disaster for the Harusame pirates, and a sigh of relief for the planet of Sciuttla."

"Cannons one and two are partially refigured," calls one of the techs, flying solo on his missions down to the weapons harbor. "Where's—oh, right."

Habitually, Zenshi knows that the man was tempted to ask where his two partners were. However, seeing as Kamui had brutally murdered the two in cold blood — for their vicious treason, he said — there were no partners to ask for.

"What's this?" Abuto quips, almost amused. "Precious ore of Aokaminyte found? How fascinating."

"Abuto," trills Kamui, his voice light and singsong. He twirls around on a wheeled desk chair, exemplifying all but the captain he is supposed to be. A child at heart, Kamui's lightness on his feet is both distracting and contagious. Nonetheless, the crew working in the bridge, familiarized with their young leader's constant pomp and dance, finds his lightheartedness to be pleasant. "Can you go help out Shaojun with the cannons?"

"_Danchou_, we're coasting through an asteroid belt," groans Abuto. "I'm needed."

"Mei will go," Zenshi offers, waving his aide over. She nods curtly, accepting her executive orders and following the harried tech down the hall. Always a friendly one, that Mei. Zenshi recalls that Mei has a sister, a pretty thing with hair as orange as a carrot. Mei's hair would be the same, except that she crops it short and bleaches it nearly white.

"And _why_ are we in an asteroid belt?" asks Kamui, dramatically sighing.

"Because we had orders to meet with Daraku's crew," Abuto explains.

"That clean freak? How boring."

Kamui finally stops twirling in his chair, staring unfocusedly at the crewman who typed furiously into a database. Zenshi proceeded to accept updates and status changes, all the while studying the abyss of space. As they navigated around various asteroids and space debris, it occurred to him that though the objects moved passed them in an ascertainable direction, he still could not tell up from down, left from right, forward from back.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Friday, THREE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

He clattered down the steps, landing on deck two with utmost caution after his crashing and echoing. Pushing the door to the main hall open, Zenshi stole a glance into the infirmary. Not much activity.

The lights were dimmed, and the curious red light that constantly flashed on the security cameras was disabled. He sprinted down toward the back of the ship, ducking into a closet when he heard voices approaching. When the coast was clear, all that was left was to crawl back up to deck five on this end of the ship and hop out the back.

The ship, currently docked in Edo's harbor, had all decks below four beneath the waterline. Abuto had very cleverly devised an escape route that would take Zenshi down to less occupied decks, before rising at the very tail end of the vessel. Deck five had a balcony-like outcropping for landed surveillance. With any luck and Abuto's planning, there would be no one there.

Unfortunately, Zenshi assumed wrongly. Someone was posted right at the exit on deck five. All the way up, the way had been open. Zenshi cursed his luck. He prepared to draw his umbrella and fire upon sight.

When the door swung open, he came face to face with his own aide.

Mei.

* * *

><p><strong>.: End of MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

"What is _that_?" snorts Kamui, reviewing any salvaged video material from the damaged cameras. He rewinds, points derisively to a man who is thrown rather comically against the windows when the gravity core deactivates and the entire ship tilts tremendously.

"The guy who fell?" says Abuto.

"Yeah, the guy who fell over." Kamui pauses the video again. "And that thing."

He brings his finger up to a dark blur that shoots past the camera after the screen stops shaking. Before the vibration, several people stumble — that was the gravity core's shut down — and collapse against the floor-to-ceiling windows. The camera is jolted from its place, and when the ship finally stabilizes again, the black flash darts across the screen. It almost ricochets from floor to slanted windows and back to the floor again.

"Spiderman," Abuto offers.

"I thought it was an actual spider," attempts an officer. The joke is apparently not appreciated, because even Kamui doesn't spare a smile.

"One of our perpetrators," Kamui declares, running his tongue over his teeth in sadistic relish. "How fun."

"Can't see him very clearly," notes Abuto.

"If he's heading toward the bow, then there should be someone at the gravity core at this time," Zenshi says, sitting in on the conversation. "Check the cameras there again."

"Have we recovered any more footage?" asks Abuto. He taps one of the crew members working on securing lost video. A shake of the head, a few frowns, and he comes back with nothing. "The most we have is before the generator goes out, and that's about a minute before the gravity core goes out. It's the first time the camera shakes," he explains, rewinding Kamui's current project. "Here."

"Abuto, Zen. Go check out that spot again," Kamui says, still peering at the screen. "I want every single piece of evidence returned."

"I never knew you to be so insistent," sneers Abuto, looking fatigued. "But oh well."

Zenshi turns to follow Abuto, but there is only one thing that makes him look back — Kamui, hand hovering over the screen, staring directly at the back of the hooded figure.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Friday, THREE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Zenshi ground to a halt, unsure of whether or not to lower his loaded parasol. Mei, on the other hand, did not lift a finger in defense. Instead, she gasped and reached for the door behind Zenshi, hurriedly pushing it shut.

"Hurry, Lieutenant, this way!" She was a flash of platinum hair, and then she was gone around the corner.

Zenshi followed instantaneously.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWENTY YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"There are certain people in this world you can learn to trust," says his mother. Her hands glide across an old _guzheng_, a family heirloom from her side. The strings that are plucked resonate with ticklish fervor, yet they only ring softly in the room. "And you will also learn how to find them."

"How?" he asks, naturally.

"By their eyes," his mother says. He looks deep into hers, and they are brown and soft and they complement her pink cheeks and pale lips. "You will know when you look in their eyes."

"What will I see?"

"Everything, Zenshi," she tells him, chuckling. "You'll be able to see everything you thought you knew, and everything you didn't."

"I don't understand."

"No one does, really."

* * *

><p><strong>.: Friday, THREE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Mei flashed a plain, silver band on her left index finger to the guard at the balcony's edge. In return, he displayed the same ring visibly on his own hand. He nodded respectfully at Zenshi, urging them to hurry along.

"Release the ladder after I come back up," Mei told him. She then turned to Zenshi, a grim, apologetic expression set in her pursed lips. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. Some of our plans were skewed, and so the only way out is by water."

"The boats were confiscated," said the guard. "If you creep over to the starboard side, you'll be closer to the spare lifeboat that Delong assigned in secret."

_Delong? _What does a dead man have to do with this?

"We'll trust that it's still there." Mei nodded and briskly strode to the unraveled rope ladder. "Lieutenant, this way."

"I recognize the urgency, but I also detest being in the dark," he stated flatly. Mei and the guard exchanged glances.

"Again, my sincerest apologies, Lieutenant, but please just accept that the time will come."

"I also don't appreciate mysteries," he nearly snarled.

"Lieutenant, _please_!" Mei went as far as to tug at his sleeve. "Please believe us."

"Are these Abuto's orders?"

"Yes."

But he didn't believe them.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

It took a long time for him to fall asleep. Haunted by the blood of his comrades, he could still feel the gushing warmth of Yato lives on his hands, between his fingers. When the essence seeped into his core, wound itself around him several times, he threw the covers aside and leapt to his feet. The imaginary blood seemed to drain, sliding between his toes like sand on a beach. No matter how hard he tried, the sensation would never leave.

Zenshi exited the room.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Friday, THREE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

He found himself descending, he found himself hardly surprised at the small canoe strapped to the underside of a secondary deck.

"There it is!" exclaimed Mei, dropping to boat's small platform. "Hurry, we're almost out of time."

"And I am to trust you?" Zenshi said coldly. Mei looked up then, and he was startled by the clarity in her anomalous eyes. She had coral eyes that often darkened with her mood, and at the moment, they shone such a pristinely pure gold that he was taken aback.

_You'll be able to see everything you thought you knew, and everything you didn't._

"Lieutenant," she said slowly, a hint of a smile on her face. "I have been your loyal aide from day one. I have known you since our school days. I'd hope with all my being that you'd trust me."

And the fact that she didn't swear on her Yato blood made him trust her all the more.

* * *

><p>Whoo! Kind of long?<p>

If you have any questions and/or comments, please review! I love talking to you guys, and I especially love hearing from you!

now... *DONDAKEEE aWaYYYYYYYY*


	13. - Thirteen -

MORE FUN FACTS!

**Ch. 12: **The tech, named Shaojun, is based off my mom's nickname. (wow, lol)

**Random: **Zenshi folds clothes at lightning speed. Yes. Laundry time.

**Random: **His favorite fruit is a peach.

**Random: **Zenshi is six foot two. Wow. Tall guy.

**DISCLAIMER: Gintamaaaaa and Gintamannnnnn are not mine. :D**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 13 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Can't sleep?"

He shook his head.

"Can't stop thinking," he corrected.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Friday, THREE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

It was cold and lonely, the breeze a despondent echo of what he had done. He had just abandoned his ship, his lifetime devotion, his people.

He had also, however, abandoned his sin.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Thinkin' about what?"

"People. Places." A deliberate pause. "Pasts."

* * *

><p><strong>.: Saturday, THREE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

He glided to shore at the stroke of midnight, dawning a new day. He quietly navigated around the smaller docked ships, tethering the teeny canoe beneath a low-set series of makeshift boards to an old, weathered boat. He hoped it would remain discreetly for an extended time, seeing as this dock was out of the way and unnoticed by most.

Setting foot onto Earth and into Edo, he walked.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Mm. How about we play a game. I'll ask ya twenty questions, and you'll do the same."

"And the point is?"

"To listen."

* * *

><p><strong>.: Sunday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Peace was disconcerting. The moments where silence permeated the air so thickly he couldn't breathe, Zenshi prompted himself to movement. He wandered in large arcs, always keeping Edo's huge space terminal in sight. Something was bound to happen. Something was supposed to happen.

Yet he dreaded it.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"To listen?"

"Yes. Is that so wrong?"

"No, there is nothing wrong with listening."

* * *

><p><strong>.: Monday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

When Mei said _out of time_, she really meant it. Either that, or the Harusame's most brutal squad was doubling as the pirate organization's sharpest, finest trackers.

Or, Zenshi thought miserably to himself, he was just a massive idiot.

After all, only Yato carry their umbrellas everywhere they go. Had it been a sunny day, Zenshi's umbrella would be a dead giveaway. He had hoped that the rain would give him a normal appearance.

He hoped wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Ladies first."

"All right." She came and sat down next to him, their backs to the wall, the half-ajar window above their heads. "Tell me somethin' about yer mother."

"That's not a question."

"Don't be nitpicky. What's yer mother like?"

"Kind. Gentle. She has brown hair and brown eyes, and looks like the lady that runs the bakery Hinowa likes." He ran a hand through his hair. "Hinowa reminds me of her."

* * *

><p><strong>.: Monday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

The rain could not decide its allegiance. All at once, the pouring storm drenched him, yet it allowed him precious moments to duck into the alleys. The shots that resounded down the street startled him into a faster run, feet seeking dry land.

But each step sank into puddles and potholes, and he stumbled his way into darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"How do you know the Yorozuya?"

"The Yorozuya? Well," she said, a wry chuckle on her lips, "they saved Yoshiwara, after all."

"And the samurai?"

"Gintoki?" Tsukuyo turned to study his face. "That's two questions, Zenshi."

* * *

><p><strong>.: Monday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

He defended skillfully, and seeing as only one man caught up to him — grabbing his umbrella hastily and tearing it with his bare hands — Zenshi was faring decently. The Yato who apprehended him was similar to Ungyou, one of Abuto's men: he had a burly, muscular build and was terrifyingly aggressive. He fired a few rounds, and Zenshi dodged most. His umbrella deflected a few, but when the brawny soldier grabbed the tool and shred it brutally, Zenshi ducked back. He couldn't remember which umbrella it was — the spare? The one his father entrusted to him, with the golden insignia melded into the handle? He could not remember.

He whirled around and ran.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"What're ya runnin' from?"

"Pirates."

"That's too vague," she insisted.

"The Harusame."

"Still too vague."

"The Yato division. I'm sure you'd remember them."

And she did.

* * *

><p><strong>.: End of MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

"What does," Abuto says, kneeling, "this look like to you?"

He holds up a torn bit of fabric between his thumb and forefinger. It's a part of Zenshi's dark cloak that had been caught in his haste.

"Evidence," Zenshi replies.

"What evidence?" Abuto stares very purposefully at the piece of fabric. "I don't see any evidence."

"Nonexistent evidence?" Zenshi corrects.

"No," Abuto denies, still. "I see proof."

"Proof?"

"Proof of existence." He taps his head, and then points to Zenshi. "Proof that you are real."

"So it's evidence," concludes Zenshi, a bit tiredly.

"You're still not gettin' it, bud," laughs Abuto, getting to his feet. When he straightens, he groans. "I'm becoming old, aren't I? Bummer."

He taps his head again.

"Think about it."

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"What is your relation to Gin?"

"That is a nosy question."

"Twenty questions."

"Nineteen, actually," she snorted, drawing her pipe from her belt. In the dark, he couldn't see the slight flush on her features.

"Your answer?"

"I have none."

* * *

><p><strong>.: End of MARCH, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

"So I retrieved these." Abuto hands over Zenshi's belongings, all recovered from the warehouse where he'd stowed them. Zenshi nods, thanking the man silently. "Bud, don't leave the clothes I give you lying around, 'kay?"

There is a teasing grin hanging on Abuto's face, threatening to spill into laughter. Zenshi good-naturedly raises a brow at the older man, earning him a hearty clap on the shoulder.

"I swear, Zenshi." Abuto shakes his head. "If I didn't really know you, I'd think you were either some pompous bastard up in the ranks or some druggie rebel in the streets. Which are ya?"

"Neither," replies Zenshi, tilting his head and smirking. "I'm a pirate with great fashion sense."

Abuto bursts into laughter.

"Borrowed fashion sense, mind you," he tips, before turning around and whistling as he saunters down the hall.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"That was hardly an answer."

"How arrogant of you to say," she scoffed.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Now," Abuto begins to explain, with mock seriousness. "If the gravity core is turned off, you're aware that we'll start floating about like lost rabbits, right?"

"Lost rabbits float?" Kamui stifles a laugh. Abuto rescinds his nearly spoken outburst, and continues on his way.

"_Danchou_, I know you're in charge and all, but you're underestimated by most of the crew," he sighs. "It would be good for you to know your own ship before the crew thinks you're a kid and bullies you into outer space."

"We _are_ in outer space."

"_Danchou_, please." Abuto throws Zenshi an exasperated glance. "I know this kid's a handful, but seriously?"

"Seriously," Zenshi parrots, cynically.

"I'm not sure I like you two," concludes Abuto, eyes flickering from the eleven-year-old boy to the tall, stoic man patiently posted beside them. "But who cares what I think. Follow me."

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Question three: why are ya runnin'?"

"You haven't answered mine."

"I did."

Zenshi's silence was compelling.

"Okay, I didn't. But I've decided — this is one-sided twenty questions."

"Did I agree to this?"

"You didn't disagree."

When he turned his head, he failed to convey his exasperation. A cloud of stinging smoke warded him away, and he simply resigned himself to answering the question.

"I'm a treasonous pirate," he offered simply. "And they don't like treasonous pirates in their crew."

"One man mutiny."

"That sums it up quite nicely."

* * *

><p><strong>.: Monday, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

_He kept time with each ragged breath, each carefully placed step. The seconds ticked off in his head, dipping into negatives because he knew he was out of time. They were coming closer, and closer, and closer…_

* * *

><p>I like doing those little tie-around things, like this one - how it came back to the first line of ch. 2, yes? Those are interesting and fun.<p>

Don't overuse them, though! D:

Lots of little short segments for you.

I NEED TO DO HOMEWORK.

INSTEAD I PUT UP THREE CHAPTERS

whYHHWYYYY

I need a Mutsu in my life to keep me in line. I love Mutsu.


	14. - Fourteen -

So many chapters in one day, wow.

Oh the homework. Nooooo.

MORE FUN FACTS:

**Ch. 9: **When the giraffe-dude says, "No use, so walling, such hard," he is speaking with a doge accent. Like, the doge meme that's been the bane of everyone existent, yet so inexplicably popular.

**Ch. 13: **The idea of giving Zenshi's mom an instrument is inspired by my aunt. She has a _guzheng_ that she plays from time to time.

**Random: **myheadcanons!Abuto will alternate between "bud" and "old sport", the former inspired by the friendliest old janitor from my middle school, and the second from The Great Gatsby. Though, "bud" is usually reserved for Zenshi.

**DISCLAIMER: GINTAMA is Sorachi's! Also, why hasn't Kondo appeared in this story yet?!**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 14 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

He didn't realize that they'd both fallen asleep until he awoke to the soft sounds of an awakening Yoshiwara, and Tsukuyo's head against his shoulder.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He is severe and almost unfriendly when he passes through the halls. Even among the most alien of Amanto, he is still reserved and separated. There are about ten Yato at this international school, but most do not associate with him. One clings to him for the sake of social means — becoming the burr on Zenshi's shoulder means increased social mobility, and thus, better relationship with Zenshi's powerful father.

The other, on the other hand, doesn't stay near at all. Zenshi doesn't believe he has friends, but he does have an ally in the orange-haired girl who wanders the campus on her own, sketchbook in hand.

"The great civil war in Kesh catalyzed the beginning of an intergalactic dispute known as the Poly-Keshtan Crisis…"

Zenshi absorbs information like a sponge, but doesn't necessarily care. He can recite word for word the greatest military accomplishments that the Inuisei Amanto have ever had — though, quite obviously, one was the opening of Earth to the universe — and write perfect papers on the effectiveness of mercenary tribes in warfare. However, upon being asked to actually converse with his classmates?

Impossible.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

The sun prompted the umbrella to cast shade over Zenshi's tall figure, but he nevertheless appreciated its preeminent warmth. He spent a solid ten minutes simply standing outside, staring into the colossal square that opened Yoshiwara to the world. A couple of women sauntered by, waving lightly at him — it was honestly far too early for that type of thing, in his opinion — but he paid little attention to them.

"Today," Seita announced proudly, "we will have a door again!"

He looked contemplative.

"A kitchen door!" he corrected, nodding. "And a new wall!"

The shop, which had been like most others, was mostly open in the front, so the majority of repairs came from within the house. The giraffe man repeatedly grumbled about the work load, and Zenshi was terribly tempted to simply undo whatever the Amanto attempted just to spite him. It was a gesture of sadistic malice, but Zenshi reined in his annoyed notions. The warmth of the sun was a rather split force — it at once soothed and irritated him.

Still, he preferred it over the rain, even if it meant carrying his umbrella over his shoulder.

"I'm goin' up to check on somethin'," Tsukuyo announced after a pleasant breakfast.

"Check on what?" Seita excitedly shoved himself back from the table, evoking a painful screeching of chair legs against hardwood.

"Somethin'," Tsukuyo insisted.

"It's been a day, only," Zenshi ventured.

"And?" Tsukuyo stood, throwing Seita a cautionary glare. The boy sat back down, slightly sulking. Hinowa reprimanded him for not finishing his breakfast.

"Maybe you should focus on something else," Hinowa suggested. "I don't necessarily wish to exact revenge on a terrorist. It wasn't as if we were purposefully targeted, Tsukki."

"Still. That man made me suspicious." She was referring to Hijikata Toushirou, the police officer. "He had no intention of briefin' us on the issue, and I _still _haven't heard from the police commissioner."

"It's been a day," Zenshi repeated.

"Did I _ask_ for yer opinion?"

He went silent, as he was, of course, apt to do.

"I'm goin' up," she reaffirmed, putting her pipe to her mouth and striding unreservedly out the front.

Zenshi, who simply remained at the table, stared at the broken wall.

"They're slow," Seita said, voicing his thoughts. The two Amanto, arrived without their portly boss, had been working since Zenshi awoke — only a short interval after the crack of dawn. And they'd accomplished nothing, so far.

"Oh, that's just how they are," Hinowa sighed, hoping to placate both her son and Zenshi. Perhaps it was his discontent grip on his umbrella; he unconsciously drew his hand back to his waist, where the handle was firmly attached to his belt. But Hinowa turned to him and said, "Zenshi, can you go follow her, please?"

At this, he started slightly.

"Yes, follow Tsukki for me. Make sure she doesn't get into any trouble."

"Is that a habit of hers?"

"A bad one, yes," replied Hinowa, a tickle of a smile on her face. She gestured to Seita, who kindly obliged to wheel her over to the door. "Seita will wheel me to where I can watch the carpenters, while he goes for groceries." She handed him a list. "Go with Zenshi when he leaves, okay?"

"Sure, Mom." Seita skimmed the list. "Can we add red bean pancakes to this?"

"I don't see why not," agreed Hinowa. "Now go, or you'll lose Tsukki."

"We never lose Tsukuyo-nee," snorted Seita, stuffing the list in his pocket and sidling up next to Zenshi. "All right, to the store!"

"Make sure _he_ doesn't get into trouble either," advised Hinowa, smiling.

"Only if he shares those pancakes," Zenshi rolled out smoothly, patting Seita's head fondly.

"You can't live on Earth for more than one week and not have those," said the boy, nodding sagely. "They're the best things ever."

"Better than space-jellyfish's tongue?"

"A _what?_"

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The ship is vast. Every few doors, he sees the same Harusame brand imprinted on the wall, and he wonders if he has already walked a circle. Eventually, he finds himself completely and utterly lost; he immensely regrets discarding the map that Abuto so very thoughtfully procured for him. Studying is one of his strong points, after all.

Rounding a corner, he runs face first into another person.

To be more accurate, it was more like that person's face smacked against his chest so hard that she stumbled backwards and held her nose.

"Are you all right? That was my fault," he immediately — and awkwardly — amends, unsure of whether to approach the other figure or just stand there gawking.

The girl swears under her breath.

"I'm fine," she says, "just surprised."

She lets go of her face, rubbing her nose. When she tilts her head back to see him, for he quite towers over the shorter Yato, their eyes meet and simultaneously widen.

"Nice hair," they say in unison.

"Thanks," she replies, while he nods wordlessly. She studies him rather critically. "When'd you get so tall?"

"I thought I always was."

"Right." She is skeptical, but doesn't elaborate upon any sarcastic comments that come to mind. "I recognized you by your scars, but you cut your hair pretty differently."

He nods. His once shoulder-length black hair, which swept past his ears in locks of navy-ink hue, is cropped short. He has a straight undercut, the once messily long black hair buzzed to the scalp. While his numerous scars, pierced ears, and deadened gaze often define him, even Zenshi admits that a glance in the mirror surprises himself. No longer is he the boy with soft, silky hair that his mother lovingly ties into the occasional boy's braid.

"It's like, I've never seen your head before," she notes, smirking.

"And what did you do, stick your head under the sun, have it accidentally burn off, and then fail to reproduce its original color?" he shoots back casually, jerking his head sharply at her.

"What, this?" She runs a hand through her hair. In her school days, she sported the longest hair he'd ever seen on anybody — tresses of carrot orange hair that hung to her hips, shimmering like an effervescent satin blanket down her back. "This was because everyone kept calling me my sister's name. We look alike, you know."

"I know."

Now, the girl's hair is cut even shorter than Zenshi's, but soft and spiky around her heart-shaped face. It's dyed bleach blonde, almost white. She has salmon eyes that match her natural hair color, but now they simply jut out like mismatched coins with her whitened hair.

"My first words to _the silent kid _in three years are, 'Nice hair.' I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"Then don't feel," he replies vaguely, hands slipping into his pockets as he retreats into himself and continues down the corridor.

"Yeah," she calls after him, eyes rolling. "And don't get lost, too."

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, PRESENT :.<strong>

"You know, Tsukki, there's this thing called _patience_," the kunoichi pronounced slowly, "and you lack it. In fact, I don't think you even have the faculties for containing patience, because you're all over the place! You see, this is why Gin-san likes _me_ more than—"

"Have ya got anythin' or _not_?" demanded Tsukuyo, patience thinning. Zenshi, squatted rather jadedly on a distant tree branch, settled back. Tsukuyo had captured Sa-chan wandering the premises of a popular dango shop, and the two sat down by forceful request of the Yoshiwaran courtesan.

"It's been a day!" exclaimed Sa-chan, echoing Zenshi's earlier words. "It's not very probable that I have anything!"

"Not even how many times that mayonnaise head went to the bathroom? Not even that?"

"Tsukki, I'm already a stalker. I could tell you how many times Gin-san went to the bathroom, but I cannot tell you—"

"Are you even investigatin'? I paid yer boss already, ya know."

"Tsukki," hissed Sa-chan. "Are you dumb? Of course I am!"

"Then why haven't ya got anythin'?

"It's been a _day_!"

The lavender-haired kunoichi threw up her hands, stuffed a dango stick into her mouth, and unceremoniously stomped away.

"Let me do my job!" she screeched over her shoulder, breaking into a run and then disappearing off some rooftops.

"You aren't doin' it!" hollered Tsukuyo after the other woman, muttering embittered curses beneath her breath.

At this point, Zenshi had descended from his post, earning a few distressed yowls from stray cats, and startling the nut-hoarding dwellers of the tree.

"You seem in need of otherworldly red bean pancakes," he stated, seamlessly falling into stride with her. She started a bit, and then shook her head.

"What're _you_ doin' here?"

"Following."

She glared, having recognized this pattern before.

"Well?" she prompted. "Whaddaya want?"

He blinked twice. She glared harder.

"I think you need those pancakes."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SIX YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"That's definitely wrong," she says indignantly, pointing at a spot on the map. "There's definitely one there."

"There is no asteroid belt," he insists.

"Yes, there is," she retorts.

He wears the haughtiest expression he can muster, channeling every square inch of essence his father ever gave off to him. He can admit that he has grown shamefully proud of this face, the one that overpowers even the most adamant of debate foes.

"Wipe that grin off your face," she hisses. "Or I'll dye your hair this color, too."

"And how many times have you tried?"

"For the record, seven. So far." She glares. "Were you always this snarky?"

"On the inside."

"And on the outside?"

"I was the prince of Planet Pheromones."

"You are _awful_," she snorts, throwing a pencil at him. "We're supposed to be working."

"I'm done," he says, displaying an entire stack of completed paperwork. "You've been sitting for the past hour trying to figure out if there's an asteroid belt between Earth and its neighboring red planet."

He pauses.

"And there is _not_, by the way."

"There _is!_" she exclaims.

"Actually," enters a new voice, "it's between Mars and Jupiter, not Earth and Mars."

"Shut _up_, Kamui," she spits, rolling her eyes. A few crewmembers turn and eye her in shock, but it doesn't register for her until a few seconds later. She swears under her breath, and then swears again at her own profanity.

"Wow, Mei," Kamui drawls, twirling a piece of red hair around his finger, "is that insubordination or just you being dumb? I don't even know."

"You twelve-year-old little shit," is the next insult that flies from her mouth, before she claps her hand over her face.

Kamui only laughs.

"You've done it now, Mei," mutters Zenshi when their young captain leaves. She sulks, doodling swirls on her paper because she's embarrassed.

"I guess I'll have to fix that, won't I?"

He only cocks his head to the side, dark blue eyes teasing.

* * *

><p>Mei is a party. She's the type to "LET'S PARTYYYYYYYYY".<p>

though what is this plot twist?!

Tsukuyo's competitor?!

ZenTsu at the beginning of chapter, and ZenMei at the end?!

NUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.

Complications, complications.

And imagine having a 12-year-old captain. Like, what the heck. It's like that annoying little bro at all those family parties is suddenly your boss. wOW.


	15. - Fifteen -

I forgot what comments I was going to add.

But: THERE IS A GINTAMA GALLERY ON MY DEVIANTART WITH ZENSHI, lots of ZENSHI. :'D

and whoaaahh TIME SKIP.

**Disclaimer: Gintama's not mine, it's Sorachi's, and MUTSU IS A PIRATE AHHH**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 15 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

There were times when he easily forgot to keep his guard up, but there were also times where his defenses were dialed so high that even Tsukuyo felt alienated.

"You okay?" she would ask softly.

"Fine." But there was always the feeling that someone was watching.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SIX YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"I've been assigned first watch," says Mei, staring at her new assignments. She leans against the bulwark, looking exasperated. "Looks like I'm up late tonight. You?"

"I had forenoon watch today," Zenshi informs her. "I can stay if you'd like, though."

"No, no," she insists. "That'd be mean."

He shrugs and wanders off, having nothing to do save a few shipment processing issues to clear up and perhaps a mandatory training session that would be unwise to miss. Suddenly, the intercom buzzes to life and a string of announcements is rattled off. The words strain past Zenshi, some actually entering his comprehension, and some trailing off without meaning. It is only when he hears his name that he jerks to attention.

"_Seaman Zenshi from Squad Fifty-two to cabin one at 2000, Seaman Zenshi from Squad Fifty-two to cabin one at 2000._"

It appears he won't be going anywhere besides cabin one this evening.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"The investigation ceased after a short week," Sa-chan summed up when Tsukuyo looked ready to burst a vein. "I wasn't able to pull much from it."

"So what _did_ ya pull?" Tsukuyo asked tersely.

"Tsukki," the other woman began, slowly. "Be patient."

"_Sarutobi_," hissed the blonde courtesan, "I have none to spare."

"Well!" declared Sa-chan loudly, patting Tsukuyo on the shoulder as if to brush dust from her clothes. "I see you keep it in reserve, don't you?" She gestured towards Zenshi, who was tempted to make a face but refrained politely.

At this point, Tsukuyo looked ready to pull out the weapons, but the purple-haired kunoichi merely sighed.

"All right, I found this — your terrorist is actually a bomb specialist known throughout the solar systems as 'Raku the Rapid' for his speedy ability to escape unseen." Sa-chan unrolled a few crinkled documents. "He's on wanted lists from various planets, and usually visits at random. No one knows where he hails from, but intergalactic police have taken to shady methods to see where his money is coming from. He's usually a hired hit, but often takes month-long leaves to randomly terrorize the galaxies."

Tsukuyo stared.

"Do you have any idea where he's headed?" Zenshi picked up easily when his companion continued staring blithely into the distance. As if fixated on Sa-chan's glasses, Tsukuyo's eyes narrowed critically.

"Well, while Tsukki is being a little slow there, let me answer that." Sa-chan scanned her papers, flipping with surprising efficiency through her research. "Aha! Here." She pointed to a specific paragraph. "According to sources that will remain anonymous, he's headed for Sciuttla."

The kunoichi looked up, but all she found was two dumbfounded visitors staring blankly at her face.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SIX YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He pauses respectfully by the door when Abuto slaps it open with far too vigorous a growl than should be appropriate.

"Oh, it's you," he says blandly, adjusting the dark grimace on his face to a slightly relieved frown. "C'mon in."

Zenshi steps inside the cabin, which he knows is used for the top officers' main meetings, but has never actually frequented.

Abuto suddenly holds up a piece of fabric to his chest.

"Will this fit you?"

"Red's not his color," snorts Kamui.

"I figured." Abuto pulls the clothing away, rummaging through a stack he'd appeared to have produced from the hands of many officers. A few point at Zenshi's shoulders, and an older woman mentions the fact that he's rather tall. "How about this?" their vice-captain suggests, pulling out a dark blue Yato-styled top similar to the one he wears now.

"Well, Abuto," drawls their young captain, "don't go giving him the same thing now."

"Obviously," Abuto replies, exasperated, "we'll modify it."

The older woman that had walked up to him earlier shakes her head.

"Poor thing hasn't even said a word," she mutters, taking the clothes from Abuto. Zenshi recognizes her as the usual head chef from down in the galley, also known as the head medic's wife. "Let him breathe."

"Zen won't say anything unless you ask him," Kamui explains. "Zen, wanna know why you're here?"

Zenshi raises a brow, looking bored.

Abuto shakes his head. "Gotta be more specific. The kid only talks when he's arguing."

"All right. Think fast!" Kamui grabs a glass plate from the table and chucks it rashly in Zenshi's direction. Before the older Yato can even reach out, the old woman spins around and deftly snatches the plate from mid-flight.

"No throwing dishes, young man!" she snaps irately. "Captain or not, I will not stand for horsing around. Proper young men will display proper behavior."

"I'm a pirate, though," Kamui attempts.

"I knew your mother, child," rallies the old woman, "and she didn't raise such a ruffian. Sit down."

To their amusement, Kamui sits. He looks all but happy, however.

"Back to business," announces Abuto, clapping his hands. He puts a firm, guiding hand on Zenshi's shoulder. "Take a seat, bud. You're about to be promoted."

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"You don't seriously intend to follow this guy, do you?" asked Sa-chan, eyes widening. "Tsukki, what personal grudge do you have against him? I don't get it."

"Ya said hired hit, didn't ya? How do I know this isn't a targeted scheme?" Tsukuyo folded her arms.

"Well, first of all, I told you he does it for fun, too," argued the other woman. "Besides that, do you know how _expensive_ it is to get to Sciuttla?"

"How do _you_ know, then?" sneers Tsukuyo, her upper lip curled into a bitter, derisive smirk.

"Tsukki, you're overreacting. I didn't do anything wrong! Why are you so mad?"

"I'm not mad."

"You're mad."

"I am no—"

"Average cost of traveling to Sciuttla is five times the pay the Shinsengumi receives per year, and getting there is practically impossible unless you are a pirate or a merchant."

Both women turned sharply on Zenshi, who had then resumed his habitual tendency of observing passersby when he had nothing better to do.

"And how do you know this?" Sa-chan asked.

"He's a pirate," offered Tsukuyo.

"You're a _pirate_?"

* * *

><p><strong>.: FIVE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Damn you, _Lieutenant_."

"Watch your language," scolds Zenshi complacently, holding up a hand to indicate that _no, _he would not currently like to accept that stack of papers. Mei heatedly slams the documents down on the table anyway, jarring the petty officer to her left from his nap and startling the rest of the crewmen currently seated.

Zenshi's sudden rise through the ranks had her uncomfortably envious, somewhat resentful, but mostly maliciously obnoxious. Despite the fact that he has since promoted her as the lieutenant's first aide, she has hardly any qualms about giving him trouble. In fact, her efforts to reform her tomboyish, raucous behavior have backfired severely, and her somewhat improved mannerisms have digressed into consistent insults.

"Ma'am," whispers the boy who usually does the ship announcements. "Please lower your voice."

"Shut up, squeak box," she snarls.

"Whoa there," Abuto breaks in, stepping into the room. "No need for fireworks, m'dear."

"Vice-captain, what a lovely day it is to see you," Mei calls, dripping with sarcasm. Her irritation has aggravated more than one crewmember, and it shows evidently on their faces.

"Mei," comes Zenshi's voice, with caustic clarity. "Sit down."

She tetchily complies, settling herself with an unceremonious thump into the seat beside him. If anything, it is the negotiator's voice he has so meticulously perfected in the past year that prompts her to obey. Since the day the upper echelons of the Harusame called him to cabin one, Zenshi had been climbing the ranks, even unconsciously. Abuto had first suggested the idea that the politician's boy, so adept in diplomatic negotiations despite his bull-nosed objections, would serve perfectly as their much-needed communications officer.

And so, Lieutenant Zenshi came to be a permanent member of cabin one's seating arrangement.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"I've done my own research," Tsukuyo said. "There've been mysterious withdrawals from Hosen's old savin's. Anonymous transactions that Hinowa was unable to negate."

"And?" prompted Sa-chan.

"We're thinkin' Harusame," Tsukuyo explained, touching upon the wrinkled papers in Sa-chan's hands. "And I was suspicious of a hired hit."

"But _why_? Have you even wondered why, yet?"

"Well, they don't have a reason to attack their own conquered grounds," Tsukuyo agreed. She made a face, disliking the fact that the Harusame considered Yoshiwara an old conquest. "There haven't been uprisin's, but they haven't watched us much either."

Zenshi's eyes flickered to the ground, and Tsukuyo caught it from the corner of her peripheral view.

"What?"

"I did just tell you I was a pirate," he stated dryly. "They're probably after me."

Tsukuyo stared at him hardly, as if uncomprehending. But her violet eyes caught his meaning without much effort, and the slight shake of her head confirmed it.

"Don't tell me yer gonna run again."

He looked away.

"If I have to, I will."

"Like a coward?" she taunted, deliberately.

"Is this part of the same conversation?" A resigned sigh.

"Yes. Yer gonna run again, even after I said we could fend for ourselves?"

"I don't run, Tsukuyo." He squared his shoulders, looming ominously over her. "I hunt."

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Mei," he summons, without ever looking up. "Take these two gentlemen to the hind generators. We're darkening ship."

"Right away," she replies, never forgetting the quick lilt in her voice that can't quite leave her demeanor. As she exits, she tosses a paper airplane at Zenshi's head; he catches it with his free hand, the other scrawling various preparation statements for the next day. Mei leads to the two deck hands down to the generators, where they will program the ship's external lights to discontinue use, extinguishing all light visible from outside the ship.

When she returns, most of the crew is silently working, some observing, and the rest on watch.

"Sir." She has repeated herself five times, but Zenshi is so utterly absorbed in his work that she knows better than to disturb him. From across the way, Abuto is duly impressed by the improvement she has shown in her manners. Though still a ruffian at heart, Mei has cleaned up her act so well that she has become Zenshi's second right arm.

"Yes?" he finally answers, never setting down his pen.

"You've got ink on your face," she comments gently. She smile in her tone indicates that she is teasing, mocking. Mei has learned to hide her snarky insults within well-timed and smoothly overdone politeness.

To her disappointment, Zenshi no longer falls for the same tricks. He doesn't reach for his face, rubbing his cheek as if he is a cat pawing itself clean. He simply stands and hands her the papers.

"We're passing through an asteroid belt," he states dully. The tempted snarl that flashes briefly on her face is quelled by a practiced smile.

"Good to know, sir."

"Make sure," he says, before leaving, "the lower levels have checked their schedules. There's been a change."

"Yes, sir."

Zenshi exits.

"And Lieutenant?" Mei hurriedly adds, following him a ways out the door.

He turns.

"There really is ink on your face."

* * *

><p>Mei goes through ultra reform! How many detentions did she serve in Yato Industrial High?!<p>

WE MAY NEVER KNOW.

Anyway. Sort of a filler-ish thing.

It's 11 and I haven't done my hw.


	16. - Sixteen -

I had some fun facts. Idk now.

Kind of long, kind of weird. Tell me what you think.

**Disclaimer: Gorilla.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 16 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"You know, Tsukuyo-nee has been super moody lately," Seita noted through a mouthful of red bean pancake.

"Has she?" Hinowa inquired, out of obligation.

"Yeah. She almost killed Gin-san yesterday, and then broke a heel."

"That sounds like regular Tsukki to me," Hinowa answered.

"But she's super tense, like, she's frowning a lot."

"When doesn't she frown?" Hinowa seemed tired.

"What do you think?" Seita turned to Zenshi. "Is she acting weird?"

Zenshi only nodded.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The man is completely and absolutely terrifying, and if Zenshi doesn't hold his breath, he fears that the man will steal it away without mercy.

"Young one," rumbles the man, with a voice deeper than the planet's core. "Do not cower in that corner. Come here."

He doesn't beckon softly; he orders the child to come forth.

"Hosen-sama," murmurs Zenshi's mother. "He's only five. He's a shy boy."

"No matter," replies the great Yato. "Come."

Zenshi unrolls himself from his little niche behind his mother, ambling up to the King of the Night. He observes Hosen from below, noticing only the severe angles and ever-increasing frown that builds upon the man's furrowed brow. Yet Hosen smiles through his frown, his expression seemingly at odds. His wide, pressed smile is almost antagonistic to the sharp, deprecating burn of his eyes.

"What a mellow boy," he says, his inflection uninterested. "Does he fight as skillfully as others his age?"

"He's not one to take up battle," Zenshi's mother hurriedly covers.

"Not one to battle?" Hosen's eyes widen. "Is that a joke, dear?"

"No, Hosen-sama, it's just—"

"His words are feared much more than his umbrella," Zenshi's father interrupts. "He takes after me, I'm afraid."

"But you see, Linter, that's just the thing." Hosen kneels and puts a large hand on Zenshi's head. "He doesn't take after you. He _is_ you."

He doesn't realize it then, but that is the moment where Zenshi begins to resent his black hair and blue eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"There's a point where I stop saving little boys' hides," Abuto states sardonically, gripping Zenshi by the shoulder so hard that the younger Yato winces subtly. "You, bud, are not a little boy."

Zenshi is just short of sulking, but the aftereffects of his failure are hard to discern. He remains, as always, with shoulders squared and posture erect, his face as stony as ever was. Abuto, who is only a hair shorter than Zenshi, pushes the dark-haired man past cabin one. Zenshi, obliged to continue, stumbles all the way to deck five, where a few soldiers are having a late lunch in the galley.

"Don't make that face," Abuto says sharply, though his tone lacks the harsh reprimand it carried before. Zenshi is not making any face in particular, but Abuto's skill in reading people puts him nearly on par with Zenshi's mother. He reads the boy rather easily, but it doesn't mean he always understands.

"Your captain," continues Abuto, "is a fourteen-year-old, bloodthirsty killer."

"An understatement," ventures Zenshi, sitting where Abuto motions for him to.

"True." Abuto is hardly amused, however, and Zenshi finds it wise to cradle his habit of silence. "But you are his first lieutenant and his diplomatic master. You are also a Yato."

Zenshi knows exactly what Abuto is going to say, and he knows precisely how hard it will bite.

"If you don't want to be your father, you'll let go. Do you understand?" Abuto hardly has to ask the second question, but Zenshi wants to hear it nonetheless. "Don't just be the talker, bud. I know you aren't. There's a reason you didn't fight back, and I can probably guess why."

Zenshi shies from the barrage of recent memories. From how when, in a moment of pure panic, the man across from him produced a pistol and aimed it straight at his head, he was frozen. How even though his hands automatically came up and his umbrella found itself swinging into the assailant's neck, he could not move fast enough or think clearly enough. He had merely stood in shock while Abuto drove a fist into the man's gut, and Kamui dispatched most of the surrounding soldiers who had drawn their arms.

"I don't know if it's your mother's blood or her personality," Abuto continues, "but you've obviously picked up on her ways. She is the most mellow person on our planet, I'd reckon."

Zenshi wants to ask how Abuto is acquainted with his mother, but immediately discards the idea. His father is, after all, a big name.

"Your old man, on the other hand, is the strangest man on our planet. He can fight as well as any Yato, except with words."

"Like myself," Zenshi supplies, awaiting the cue.

"No, I'm not saying that." Abuto glares stiffly. "He can murder just like the rest of us, but his talent for words is rare. Combined with the softness of your mother, it's almost as if they've created a creature of peace. One who solves with negotiations rather than violence."

"And?"

"And where are _you_?" Abuto leans down, slowly, deliberately, his eyes locking onto Zenshi's with such languid grace that the younger Yato is petrified in awe. "Are you your mother? Or are you your _father_?"

"I am _no—_"

Abuto suddenly grips Zenshi's collar in his fists and brusquely yanks him to his feet. Then, before the dark-haired boy can react, the vice-captain punches him. As fist collides with face, all Zenshi comprehends is the echoing crack of knuckles against cheekbone, of himself sprawled backwards across a table, of slight murmurs and heads turning.

He picks himself up after sliding across the table, skin stinging from the strike.

"Who are you?" demands Abuto. "Don't lie to me. Give me _proof_."

"I am _not_ my father!" Zenshi hollers, feeling his throat strain from raising his voice. The disuse of his voice causes his declaration to falter; he is not accustomed to yelling.

"I don't believe you," Abuto replies, just as loudly. "Give. Me. _Proof_."

"I am not my father, and I am not my mother." Zenshi stalks up to his superior, coming so close that he can feel Abuto's breath on his face. "I am myself."

"Give me proof," the older Yato whispers, the edge of a smile on his features.

Zenshi steps back, pushes his disheveled hair from his face, revealing all the scars and the stitches and the ferocious intensity that is himself. He jerks a thumb at his own chest.

"The proof's right here."

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Here at Yorozuya Gin-san, we do all sorts of jobs," rattled off Shinpachi. He grimaced. "That sounds like an infomercial. And it's boring."

"Like you, yes?" quipped Kagura, sucking on a tab of pickled seaweed.

"At Yorozuya, the greatest experience awaits you!"

"We're not a resort, Patsuan," drawled Gin plainly, taking a swig directly from the carton of strawberry milk he quickly put back into the fridge. "Anyway, what brings our Yato friend and the King — oh wait, I mean Queen — of the Night to our humble home?"

"We want ya to investigate this," Tsukuyo informed him, pushing Sa-chan's documents onto the low coffee table. Shinpachi scooped them up and flipped quietly through them, frowning all the while.

"A terrorist for hire?" he deduced quickly, skimming the last few pages of notes. "You think you guys were bombed by a hitman?"

"Yes," Tsukuyo affirmed.

"No," Zenshi denied at the same time.

"Decide," Gin demanded deprecatingly.

Tsukuyo proceeded to explain the mysterious tinkerer of bank accounts and Yoshiwara's subsequent confusion. Gin and his crew quietly absorbed this, occasionally nodding and mostly frowning.

"And you now think that it was the Harusame? And they were after our Yato friend here?" Gin gestured to Zenshi.

"Yes," Tsukuyo said.

"No," repeated Zenshi.

"It's half true," both said in unison, facing one another.

"It's an attack on Yoshiwara."

"No, it was directed at me."

"What are ya, self-centered?"

"No," Zenshi countered levelly. He tapped his head. "I'm thoughtful."

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"You will repudiate all Harusame debts and grant general amnesty to the commanders of Divisions 6 through 9, inclusively." Zenshi decisively slides the documents across the table for official signing. The man across from him, sitting between two wide-shouldered guards, is the head executive of Onsha Law Corporation, the most influential law firm throughout the galaxies. Harusame, inevitably, runs into charges along its path, given that it is a known crime syndicate, but the dutiful 7th Division runs the clean-up department, seating Zenshi where he is now.

"In fact, you'll find it beneficial to refrain from calling it a grant of _amnesty_, as your name seems to imply greatly." Zenshi purposefully picks at the organization's name, which meant, quite literally, "amnesty". Known for their lawyers' nitpickiness and wealth of knowledge, Onsha Law was renowned for practically impenetrable defense — hence, they were able to grant "amnesty" to the unfortunately accused who were wealthy enough to afford their services.

"I cannot comply to this," states the head executive, a wiry little Amanto with a thick tweed jacket buffed with padded shoulders to increase his stature. He has a gaunt, pale face freckled with blue splotches, like that of an appaloosa horse. Round spectacles perch on his hooked nose, and his sparse gray hair is swept back over a distended head. "As head of this law firm, I uphold our standards and our—"

At this point, Zenshi has ticked off the number of seconds passed in his internal clock. Two minutes marks this offer, and when three minutes hits, he will offer again, this time with a menacing undertone and a slight switch in the game.

"—pride in maintaining moral integrity and trustworthiness. I will not soil Onsha Law with you Harusame swindlers."

Zenshi can't deny that the greatest crime syndicate in the galaxy is indubitably the boss in all affairs illegal, but he is their negotiator and Onsha Law will be no exception from the many he has persuaded so suavely.

Three minutes. He counts down to four, in which the threat of physical means will trigger the guards' alertness.

"Let's hear your side of the story, then. What will you offer _us_, as customers?" The tables are turned; no longer is Harusame a threat, but a potential source of income. And, as the manager must know, the Harusame have an abundance of wealth — legally acquired or not.

"For the defense of the following major companies," states the executive formally, listing major corporations that some division or another must've corrupted from the inside out, "Onsha Law is not responsible for the partaking of—"

Four minutes.

Zenshi slams his hand down on the table, so abruptly that the thin Amanto jerks backwards in his chair, little oval eyes growing wide.

"Are you saying," Zenshi says in a low voice, "that you're not going to take responsibility for your clients? Are you insinuating that your law firm is merely a despicable conglomerate of swindlers who defend swindlers?"

He goes so far as to draw a pocketknife, pull the papers back across the table, and stab the blade deep into the mahogany and through the unsigned documents.

"Are you claiming to stand for the defense of these corporations, and then backing away with the power of intergalactic law to play the waiting game? Who, may I ask, benefits? Do tell." Zenshi leans forward then, elbows propped up on the long table, chin in hand. The bodyguards have tensed visibly, and one draws a spear.

The little Amanto is conspicuously shaken, but slightly more indignant that anything. Zenshi gives him credit — for such a frail-looking man to stand so solidly against the Harusame's finest diplomat is quite a feat. The lone Yato, flying solo on this trip, watches the Amanto carefully.

"I am going to discuss with my associates," says the weedy man, his nose twitching. "And then I will be obliged to answer your questions."

Zenshi, usually the patient one, has taken the "push" tactic with this man. Never once has he really let the poor executive take a real lead or finish a thought. Eager to get this rotten negotiation out of his system, Zenshi is stringing the fight away from the man.

Five minutes hit, an internal notification sounding, and Zenshi prepares to cut off the man's exit.

However, the guards, along with a few hired soldiers that surrounded the perimeter of the meeting room in good time, have caught onto Zenshi's thoughts. At that moment, the supposedly feeble Amanto whirls on him, a patronizing smirk on his thin, dry mouth.

"You foolish brutes," he laughs, purposefully loud. "Did you think that sending one boy could suffice? Don't think for a moment that I don't recognize you, child. You're Linter's son, aren't you?"

A guard swiftly closes the gap between himself and Zenshi, but he hasn't the time to seize the Yato because he has just been decapitated, brutally and mercilessly.

"Am I?" Zenshi replies coolly, proceeding with his customary flick of the wrist to shake the blood from his fingers. Intriguingly enough, the guard's blood is a gluey purple that almost immediately globs into black crusts.

"You're the spitting image of him," comes the fatal reply. "A cowardly actor who would fall within a heartbeat if taken by force."

Zenshi slowly draws his umbrella, and shoots once. It hits the executive in the foot, the bullet smashing through the frail flesh and bone of his toes. Howling, the manager crumples to his knees, falling so that he is clutching the wound.

All around, guards swarm at him.

"I may resent my father and his name," Zenshi says, in no particular direction but focused on the still-agonized head executive, "but I don't take kindly to any sort of insult."

He fires exactly ten rounds, takes out exactly ten soldiers. Their numbers are increasing, seeing as the door is ajar and bodies are upping the count. When they come to close, he swipes out quickly with his left hand, cutting through throats like butter. Oddly enough, the fudge-like texture of the guards' bodies is alarming, almost as if their flesh could latch onto him parasitically. Zenshi deals out quicker blows to avoid the disgusting repercussions.

When every single guard is either decapitated, shot, or disemboweled, Zenshi stares at the door. The man has fled.

"I also don't take kindly to running," he mutters under his breath, sheathing his umbrella and taking off rapidly down the hall.

Nimbly, he avoids any unnecessary obstacles and easily overwhelms any opponents in his way.

But the whole time, his subconscious is terrified. The whole time, he lets his blood run loose, free of restriction. The Yato urges flow through him faster than his heart pounds, and in time, he finds himself captivated by the rhythm of his muscles, his nerves, and his breathing all in sync. It's an elaborate dance, and the Yato within is leading.

He sees, however, none of his parents.

Zenshi only sees himself.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

Tsukuyo was thoroughly disinterested in Zenshi's argument, had no trouble telling him that he was everything but "thoughtful", and finally simply stood up and left.

"Is she okay?" Shinpachi whispered under his breath.

"Maybe it's _that_ time of the month," Gin suggested lewdly.

Zenshi rose to his feet, sighing inaudibly.

"Zen-chan, why's she so angry? It's about protecting Yoshiwara, yes?" Kagura had eaten a total of thirty-two strips of pickled seaweed, and was intently starting her next.

"When you're given something to protect, you protect it, yes?" he offered, lapsing into the childish Yato accent Kagura, like many others, still carried. He did it to comfort her, but the perceptive young girl was anything but so.

"The Hyakka might know, yes? They're the ones closest to Tsukki."

"I'll keep that in mind, space fighter."

"Aye aye, cap'n."

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Zenshi throws the papers, letting them flutter arbitrarily like leaves to the cold tile floor.

"Now," he says, with an unencumbered wealth of patience. "Your signature."

No please, no "if you will" here.

"No," whispers the Amanto hoarsely. "I will never lose to Linter, never."

"No, you will not," agrees Zenshi. He gently takes the man's hand and encloses a pen within it. "But for yourself, you, regrettably, will lose to me."

* * *

><p>duh duh duh<p>

dunnnn.

Zenshi is promoted! Zenshi becomes a true Yato!

U hhh.

TSUKUYO ANGRY

WAHHH

/so done


	17. - Seventeen -

FUN FACTS!

**Ch. 16: **Zenshi's father, Linter, has a name based off of my dad's Caller ID appearance. Less Chinese-sounding, I know, but it's because when my dad immigrated, the character that should be (in modern pinyin) "De" turned into "Ter", idk how or why. Like, what even. So caller ID just makes it even funnier. AND SO THERE.

**Random: **I found my early designs of Zenshi, and he's this weird punk rock kid with an axe. (lol)

**Disclaimer: Gorilla is king.**

**Notes: **You get a special chappy this time! Only one time period (ohhhh!) _and_ you get to see Zenshi go insane (?!1111).

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 17 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"That wasn't an 'aye, aye' I heard," Kamui entreats, looking for the always pleasant agreement to his orders.

"That's because, _Danchou_, I didn't understand your orders."

"And why is that?"

"I do not believe I heard correctly, sir. Will you please repeat them?"

Kamui twirls his braid in one finger, twisting himself around in the swivel chair. Abuto types furiously onto a digital keypad, wrinkling his nose when the nearest control center bounces his message back with a rejected mainframe connection displaying in angry red on the screen.

"As I said before," Kamui relents, tossing his red hair over his shoulder, "I'd like for you to follow up on Zen's negotiations. You'll take Delong and Jinlin with you."

"I'm sorry, Captain, but did you just ask me to _talk_ to people?"

"I'm sorry, Petty Officer Mei, but did I not just clarify for you?" Kamui crosses his arms. "Delong and Jinlin are on standby."

She twitches, just slightly, in the eye.

"Permission to inquire further, sir?"

"Shoot."

"Where _is_ the Lieutenant, anyway?"

The doors to the bridge slide open with their elevated hiss and exhale, revealing a triumphant but harried Lieutenant Zenshi at the threshold.

"Right here," he declares tiredly, his voice partially muffled by his cloak, the hood of which he'd drawn up around his neck like a scarf.

"So I don't have to go talk to people, yes?" Mei interprets excitedly.

"No," the order clamps down in unison. Mei winces, deciding to bite her tongue and hold her words for the moment. Any more excitement, and she'll become too animated.

Zenshi appears as if he has just killed three hundred men — "I wiped out the entire crew, save a few," he says without celebration when asked if he'd just gone on a killing spree — and is less than amused by her snarky remarks. Though, in all actuality, Mei had yet to make one.

Kamui, on the other hand, claps his hands.

"All right, Petty Officer, your friends are tired of being on standby." He points to his left, where Delong, muscular and lean and in his early forties, is waiting by the windows. Standing next to him is a Yato woman of about thirty or so, with lofty black hair that floats in wispy tresses down her back. She is pretty, but age has claimed her early, and the dark circles beneath her eyes tell far more of a story than she could. The thin line of her mouth denotes a no-nonsense demeanor, and Mei finds herself discouraged by her two almost constricting new partners.

"Take it or leave it, Mei." Zenshi emanates murderous intent almost uncontrollably, but holds it in check with a haggard reservation. Kamui, clearly, can also feel it undeniably, because he bursts into laughter and smiles with a delighted shiver. In fact, the moment Zenshi crosses deeper into the main control center of the bridge, most of the techs and commands officers turn around.

He turns sharply on the bridge's announcer boy; the poor thing cringes and retreats to his little desk, where he's busying himself with documenting transactions.

"I'll leave it, sir," she quips. _Yes_, she thinks quietly, triumphing in a mini bout of sarcasm. She realizes, then, that it is a mistake to do so. Zenshi's dark mood is uncharacteristic, and rather unstable. Though she has felt the blood of Yato coursing through everyone — for Zenshi, the levels are comparable to that of most of the crew, nothing unusual — it is the lack of his usually precise control that scares her.

"Are you sure?" he slowly draws out, staring at her with blinding patience. His hands hang slackly at his sides, and she sees blood of many different colors painted on his fingers. "Would you like to negotiate, or is that simply a denial?"

Abuto has turned, now, his attention drawn from the stubborn red square that continuously pops up on his monitor. His eyes flicker from Zenshi to Mei, and then quickly back.

"It was a choice prompted by your demand, sir," she attempts one last time. She hopes on the bet that he'll recognize her wry sense of humor — mostly dry and strained this time around — and simply let her go. He knows she will obey.

"So it seems."

He is deadly quiet, and she is terrified now. The aura of complete blood lust has never come from him so strong. In fact, she is tempted to believe that it is simply Kamui, exercising his ability to frighten people on presence alone.

"Yo, Zen," calls the young captain, "Abuto here seems to need help accessing the main access board. Sit."

Zenshi glances over.

"Maybe it's because you're sitting on it, Kamui."

"That wasn't an 'aye, aye' I heard," Kamui replies, almost cheerfully. He is, indeed, perched upon the backs of a few system monitors, but he could hardly care.

"_Danchou_," says the pale Jinlin, who is fair even beyond Yato standards, "the Onsha Law's main ship is departing from their current coordinates."

She slinks up behind them almost invisibly, appearing out of nowhere and startling Mei. The younger woman sidles away from the woman, who is tall and toned.

"Zen, didn't you say you killed their whole crew?" laughs Kamui, waving the officer away. Abuto leans over and thanks her, ordering departure for Harusame's central space station.

"I said _most_," Zenshi contends. His face is so expressionless that the striking severity of his gaze is disconcerting.

Mei shivers now, because the most patient man in the universe is currently losing his grip on his temper. She never thought it possible.

She doesn't want to see her Lieutenant snap.

"Lieutenant, if you would please instruct me on the follow-up procedures," she quickly interrupted, inserting herself between Kamui's taunts and Zenshi's ensuing lack of composure. He turns.

The fact that, though the dark-haired Yato never once raised his voice and never let his face slip into any expression except that short of boredom, Mei can tell just how put off Zenshi was only goes to show how much aggressiveness emanates from his being.

Kamui whistles and hops down from his post, trotting a circle around the working officers to observe their work before wishing them a fine afternoon and promptly exiting. Though the captain is no longer present to grate on his nerves, Zenshi still looks agitated. And by agitated, it simply meant that his lack of any real visage to show his emotions was scaring the living daylights out of every single crew member.

"Sir?" repeats Mei, in a smaller voice. Zenshi doesn't look at her, only flexes his fingers. Peculiarly, his arms are still limp at his sides, as if he wishes to force them into relaxation. With sudden apprehension, Mei wonders just how much he is in control.

On the outside, he still displays the strict management of his expressions and his body language, but the dangerous aura he emits runs rampant across the room.

Zenshi takes a long, shuddering breath. The suddenness of his sharp inhale startles Mei, along with several others. From the corner of her eye, she spots Delong tensed along the windows and Jinlin frozen in a crouch, back to the glass. No one dares approach, interrupt, or even say a word.

He dips his chin, just slightly.

Abuto leaps to his feet and abruptly crosses in front of Zenshi. He's about to clamp a hand down on the other man's shoulder, but recoils, thinking it unwise. Instead, he gingerly touches Zenshi's forearm, which is also crusted with strange, blackened blood.

"Don't think about it," he says. "I know."

Zenshi almost jerks backward when he realizes Abuto's hand is on his own.

"Give your orders, first," commands Abuto, gesturing in Mei's direction.

Zenshi simply stares.

"Hey, bud, ya listening?" Abuto raises his hand then, hand hovering over the other Yato's shoulder. "I'm gonna place my hand on your shoulder, okay?"

Mei is completely and utterly confused. Abuto regards Zenshi like a spooked horse, like a creature that will take flight or bolt.

He probably will, she figures out. He might snap.

_But Zenshi doesn't just _snap.

He _unravels_, slowly, specifically, apprehensively.

She swallows and steps back.

When Abuto places his hand down on Zenshi's shoulder, the dark-haired lieutenant reacts with the violence of a thunderbolt, but the vice-captain is ready to counter. Abuto catches all four attempts to kill with the ease of a swan drifting across a lake.

"You let the fumes get to your head, you idiot," he chastises quietly. "Only a few know, so I guess I can't blame you."

Zenshi mouths something that Mei can't hear, and Abuto shakes his head.

"He called you that? And what, you let it get to your head? You idiot." Abuto's grip on the boy's shoulder is hard, now. "The stupid blood gives off noxious perfumes that supposedly make you go nuts. Apparently, it turns you into our notoriously dumb _Danchou_, doesn't it?"

"I'm not him, either," snarls Zenshi. Mei wonders if her friend has gone completely insane. The way his eyes flicker from somewhere to nowhere and then to the ground make him disoriented, deranged.

"Look at me," Abuto orders flatly. "Bud, are ya there?"'

He is not. Mei wants to knock the sense back into the lieutenant's head, but realizes that his hands, now balled into fists, are quivering with unseen effort.

"You're either going to calm down or I'm going to hit you so hard you'll see heaven three times before you wake up."

"That would," starts Zenshi, "be rather nice."

"Bud, I'll count to three. One."

"Mei," Zenshi beckons in a strained tone. "Secondary paperwork. You know which one. Make them sign it."

Mei is about to answer, but Abuto says something quietly and Zenshi snaps back violently.

"I am _not_."

"So you're gonna send her, and let them think you're a coward?"

The moment seems personal. The crewmembers quietly divert their gazes, devoting their attention to their work. Mei is taken aback — why is Abuto goading him? And why is Zenshi so tense?

Zenshi jerks a thumb at himself.

"And what's that?" prods Abuto.

"Proof," hisses the boy — and that's what he looks like, an indignant boy.

"Of?"

Zenshi raises a hand as if to strike, but it falls short because halfway through his swing, Abuto catches his wrist. Almost instantaneously, Zenshi's arm loses all momentum and hangs, with only Abuto grasping his forearm.

"Bud, I need you to go lie down and let the fumes work their way through your system."

"Is that an order?" sneers Zenshi derisively. "_Sir_?" he adds, just to mock him. The vice-captain takes no heed of the insubordination and merely sighs.

"No, it's a request, you knucklehead."

"Mei, why did I even need to tell you how to do the follow-up?" Zenshi suddenly inquires, turning to her unsteadily.

"Lieutenant, I don't think you're all right."

"He's basically drugged," Abuto explains. "High on blood. Imagine that."

"I'm fine, just let me—"

"Lights out, bud. Let's go." Abuto seizes Zenshi by the arm and drags him to the door. He turns to Mei and barks, "Do that follow-up. When you come back, check on this fella. If he's still a psychopath, come get me. If he's back to normal... Well, still come get me."

"Yes, sir," murmurs Mei, motioning discreetly to her two stoic partners and reluctantly allowing Abuto to pass with their half-unhinged lieutenant.

"Mei," Zenshi throws over his shoulder. He can hardly hold himself up.

"Yes?"

"Look outside."

She turns and looks out the windows, where the glass of the bridge's main control center stretches from floor to ceiling. The ship is slowly maneuvering in space, headed for the Harusame space station.

And in the midst of it all, there they are—

Passing through an asteroid belt.

* * *

><p>So a little bit of Mei's POV, and Zenshi going nuts. Don't ever get him high, omg.<p>

Alcohol makes him quieter, hallucinogens and other smokey smokeys will make him go all Yato on your ass, so watch out bruh.

Uh. This officially has as many chapters as **Emeralds (status: long long hiatus) **does, but probably not even half the words, lol.

Be grateful that these aren't like 17,000,000 words per chapter (lol).

GOING TO BED BYE.


	18. - Eighteen -

MORE FUN FACTS!

**Random: **I ate red bean pancakes yesterdayyyy!

**Ch. 17: **Officer Jinlin is named after my beautiful cousin. Hehe.

**Ch. 12: **I don't know if I already mentioned this, but "precious ore of Aokaminyte found" is a direct reference to the Aokami family from my other fic, **Emeralds**. (it's a Naruto story haha)

**Random: **My second Gintama OC appears in this. Say hello!

**Disclaimer: Chome chome is never and will never be mine. But I can worship Otsuuuu-chan, all right?!**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 18 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Our boss has firmly told us to refrain from giving you any information," announced the masked woman in the driest monotone imaginable. At this, Zenshi stared at the woman with a flat gaze of half contempt and half disinterest. He dipped his chin, studying the ground for a few moments before looking up again.

"I would," he began in his slow, smooth way, "reconsider if I were you."

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Someone has placed a cool towel on his forehead, but he's too disoriented to care. His blood throbs thickly through his veins, and his arms might as well be made of lead. The insistent, torturous thrumming of thirst in his chest and throat isn't the type to be quenched by water. His fingers itch to wrap around the throat of an another, and though the sensation makes his arms a tad lighter, it pegs his heart with an otherworldly weight.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

The quiet abode of the Hyakka's modest headquarters was none other than an older shop tucked beside Hosen's old palace. Zenshi noted the organized, efficient manner with which the women traded posts and relayed various messages, from quotidian affairs to petty robberies. Yoshiwara in itself was like another Edo — massive, complicated, and busier than ever before.

"If yer gonna snoop," came the distinct voice, "then ya might as well try harder to avoid me."

Zenshi glanced over his shoulder to see Tsukuyo, of course, waiting with her hands on her hips.

"Who ever said I was snooping?"

"Sure looks like it," she snapped, stalking up to him. The sharp click of her heels against concrete rung throughout the now-quieted Hyakka, who respectfully issued short bows and came to attention. "If ya really want to know," Tsukuyo said, "then yer gonna drop this off at the post office above."

A tradeoff. Zenshi sighed, accepting the small, padded package from her hands.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

When he regains the ability to comprehend his surroundings, he discovers a cocoon-like state of being. Wrapped up in several blankets and sweating through his shirt — who changed his clothes? — Zenshi freezes up, constricted.

"No, you're not being kidnapped, bud," drawls Abuto, who is sitting lazily in a chair next to him, browsing a magazine. "Do you know that this one is ceasing publication?" he mutters, nonchalantly. "It was a good one, you know. Lots of space gossip."

Zenshi ignores him and stares at the ceiling. He's in his own room, a plain, undecorated place where he only returns to at night.

"I'm surprised you don't lock this thing," Abuto continues, switching topics with ease. "Most officers so paranoid that they install secondary locks on the sliding doors."

"I have nothing worth stealing," Zenshi manages through a surprisingly dry throat. As if reading his mind, Abuto slides a glass of water across the nightstand.

"You might want to get up slowly," suggests the older Yato, closing the glossy magazine and setting it down. Zenshi takes his advice, seeing as the moment he tries to prop himself up on his elbows, a wave of nausea rolls over him.

"Why didn't you tell me about the blood?" he croaks, pushing his hair from his eyes once he is situated upright.

"I thought you could handle it," Abuto said dryly. "It has different effects on different people. Their race uses it as a defense mechanism, but it's quite mysterious. The fumes often just make people disoriented, like they're drunk, or it drives them nuts and makes them hallucinate."

"And for you?" Zenshi is curious, but guardedly so.

"Me?" chuckles Abuto. "Oh, I've been around them plenty. It just makes me a tad tired and a little tipsy, but I'm usually fine. Our idiot captain, however, does something like you."

Zenshi looks at the man pointedly.

"Go crazy for blood, that is," Abuto explains.

Zenshi returns to staring at nothing but walls and ceilings, feeling nothing but a mix of misery and disgrace.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

The elevator ride up was serene, the seconds falling in time with the shaft's repetitive, mechanical clunks up the way to the surface. The daytime found Yoshiwara resting, now that the sky was open for all to see. Zenshi recalled his first glance of the city — dark all day and all night, twinkling with the red-light district's jeweled beacons.

The noontime sun bore heavily in the sky, directly overhead when Zenshi stepped out onto Edo's surface. His umbrella leaned casually on his shoulder as he made his way downtown, seamlessly blending into the crowd.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

_The man with the camera smiles encouragingly, prompting the little boy to smile. He is shy, however, and tucks himself behind his mother's long skirt. _

_ "Come," says the woman, "step in front of me. Sit here."_

_ She motions to a stool, which the small child clambers upon with some effort. She places her hands on his shoulder, telling him to smile. The cameraman is preparing his tools, setting up a tripod and tinkering with buttons. He's about to take the picture, but the little boy's confused protest pauses those endeavors._

_ "Where's Dad?" he inquires, looking almost forlorn._

_ "He'll be a little late," says the woman. The child is perceptive; he knows his mother is lying. _

_ But to their surprise, another man enters the room, apologizing for his tardiness. The child's mother brightens considerably, and the boy clamors for his father. _

_ "You came," says the wife with suppressed delight. The father presses a kiss to her cheek and smiles warmly._

_ "I promised this fellow," he says, putting a hand on the son's head, "that I would not miss the New Year's photo."_

_ "You just want the year cake," giggles the child, one hand grasping his mother's and the other grasping his father's. _

_ "Smile," calls the photographer._

_ And, for a moment that will never be repeated, the boy smiles._

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

The Oedo Greater Postal Service had once been a tiny office in the middle of Edo's eastern districts. Back then, it was simply called the "Mid-east Post Office". Having had quite a few years to branch into the city, it became Edo's largest and most prosperous mail delivery service in existence.

Despite the long lines, the office worked with impressive efficiency, despite their apparent shortage of hands.

"I'm sorry," chirped the boy at the desk into the phone, "Matsuoka-san is currently out of the office. May I take a message for you? Yes, ma'am, that will be fine. My name is Shinobu, I'll be taking care of Matsuoka-san's paperwork for today."

The boy looked up as the line moved forward, pushing Zenshi to the service desk. Upon further inspection, Zenshi realized that the so-called "Shinobu" at the counter was hardly a male at all. Though slim and slightly muscular, the figure on the phone was discreetly effeminate. The line of her face was smooth, her neck elegant and long. Despite this, she capped her hair into a baseball hat emblazoned with "_Postal Service_" and a little embroidered envelope with wings. With a sharp eye, she could be discerned as female; with blunt observation, she could pass as a feminine young man.

"Hi, can I help you?" she asked, setting down the phone, scribbling onto a notepad, and smiling. Zenshi was thoroughly impressed with her deception. She kept her eyebrows slightly knitted and her smile firm, knowing full well that widely-spaced eyes and soft lips were female cues.

"I would like to drop this off for someone," he began. "The addresses are already printed and registered, I've been told."

The girl took the package and read the writing on its backside.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly. "This is from Tsukki!"

Beaming, she quickly recorded the transfer of mail into a computer — Zenshi caught a glimpse of a pre-signed mail form officially affirmed by both the Hyakka and the postal service — and tucked the package beneath a desk, into unseen cartons.

"Say hello to Tsukki for me," she said, nodding. "Yoshiwara's moon is a familiar face to us mail people," she explained with a bright laugh.

Zenshi raised a brow.

"And what name do I tell her?" He watched carefully for the girl's reaction, and the slight surprise — but it was more like friendly delight — on her face temporarily dissolved her façade.

"Sayuri," she informed him crisply. "Yamiya Sayuri."

"All right then, Shinobu-san," Zenshi answered easily, nodding at the nametag clipped to her shirt pocket, "I'll pass on the message."

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

When he awakens this time, Abuto is gone, the lights are dimmed, and he is short of breath. Wrenching himself from the mattress, Zenshi staggers to the bathroom sink, feeling that his expansive quarters are suddenly too cramped.

He'd dreamt of his father, his family.

He'd dreamt of all the things he tried not to remember.

He'd dreamt of the photo in which, with his father's face posed lovingly next to his own, the two of them looked exactly alike.

He plunges his face into cold water and changes into a simple silk shirt tied with an _obi_ in the midsection and black pants tucked into his scuffed boots. The top is a dull navy blue, like most of his other clothes, and resembles the dark colors worn by most of the Yato save a few. There are the odd days where everyone pulls out their more colorful clothing — the Lunar New Year marks the day where Kamui is not the only one dressed in bright red, for example — but most of the time, the Harusame's 7th Division lacks the bright optimism of a people continuously drenched in rain.

The knock at the door startles him, but only slightly.

"It's unlocked," he calls, staring at himself in the mirror. His hair is wet from splashing his face with water, and sticks damply to his face.

Mei peers into the doorway, the sliding door hissing open.

She is, as usual, donned in her auburn _cheongsam_, the one with an egret on the skirt. The only other thing she wears is a gray hoodie with matching pants, looking much like one of those Earth girls doing strange yoga-like exercises. Mei often decides to wear that uniform to cabinet meetings, where most of the higher-ups give her dirty looks but don't say anything, but her immediate advisor, Zenshi, has not expressed discontent.

"Zen?" she ventures, dropping formalities as soon as her foot crosses the threshold. Her eyes are genuinely concerned, her mouth set into a thin line. "You okay?"

"Fine," he answers curtly, hands balling into fists.

"Want something to eat? I can run down to the galley."

"No, I'd rather come with."

"All right." She politely steps aside to give him space, despite the fact that she has hardly even entered the room. The jerkiness to her movements signals wariness, and Zenshi feels it immediately.

"You're afraid."

"I'm worried."

He stares at her, but the gaze is limp and pathetic, and she probably knows.

"Hey," she comments brightly, breaking the unspoken disagreement, "I heard Guma is making year cake."

"Is it already that time of the year?" He picks up a towel and runs it through his hair. "How strange."

"Well, I don't know about you," she quips lightly, turning on her heels, "but I'm not missing year cake. You coming?"

He steps out the door after her, noticing nothing but the fact that her orange hair peeks out from beneath the bleached blonde dye.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"All right, _Lieutenant_," Kamui barked, a malicious smile crossing his face. "Are you ready for your first formal assignment?"

"With all due respect, _Danchou_, I've had my share of first formal assignments."

"As _Lieutenant_," Kamui insisted.

"Easy, _Danchou_, easy on the nerves. Lieutenant's a big name on this ship," Abuto cautioned, eyeing the tensions strung tightly between the two young Yato.

"Okay then," agreed Kamui, tossing his braid over his shoulder. "You take Jinlin and a petty officer of your choice on this assignment."

"Understood. And the goal of this assignment?"

Kamui pushed his swivel chair back from the table, pointing at cabin one's massive broadcasting screen. There were multiple camera views of Yoshiwara, the City of the Night. The captain points to Hosen's old palace.

"I need you to first of all, make sure that our administrations—" he was referring to his new position as overlord and the multiple assets he had placed within the city "—and then retrieve something from Hosen's place.

If the Hyakka apprehend you, you have permission to engage in combat, but only for a brief scuffle. No killing, because we need to keep this city."

"Yes, sir. Though it is strange to hear such a command."

Kamui laughed. "There is more than one reason to keep this city."

"Avoid any white-haired samurai," Abuto advised dryly. "You might die."

At this, Kamui shot the vice-captain an accusing glare. He continued, nonetheless.

"You're going to take this," he said, holding out a small, golden statue of a hare, "which is made of fool's gold, and exchange it for the one in Hosen's study. That one is a stolen remnant of Yato history, and there are some important people that would like it back with the least trouble."

"So they asked pirates," snorted Abuto, rolling his eyes.

"They asked _us_," specified Kamui. He turned. "Do you understand?"

"Aye, aye, captain."

"That's what I like to hear."

Kamui held out the shining, golden rabbit, and with increasing apprehension, the new lieutenant reached out and grabbed it.

She could not say that the daggers digging into her back were not the eyes of her captain, but she could not say that they weren't her own fears either.

Looking out the window, all Mei can see is the looming marble of Earth, growing ever larger with their approach.

* * *

><p>This was kind of long.<p>

Kind of hard to write.

What do you mean the Oedo Greater Postal Service doesn't exist?

_What do you mean I just named it "Greater Edo Greater Postal Service" phshhs sounds cooler okay?!_

**_BEBOP KAMUI-KUN IS THE GREATEST THING ON ALL PLANETS._**


	19. - Nineteen -

Probably last one today? I have a ton of homework, haha.

FUN FACTS:

**Ch. 18: **Yamiya Sayuri is an OC I made for Gin, but since I'm a hardcore GinTsu shipper, I wanted to cry and rejoice at the same time...and then Zenshi was born, but he was at first a weird visual kei/punk guy...and his final design...is THIS!

**Random: **I hope you guys know that I have art of him on my deviantART!

**Ch. 19: **Yato literally means "night rabbit", hence the golden bunny thing that Kamui was talking about.

**Random: **Every single time I write, "aye aye, cap'n" all I hear is the Spongebob theme song.

**Random: **I can totally imagine Kamui singing "Anata MAGIC".

**Disclaimer: If Gintama were mine, Mitsuba would live and Otae would realize how important Kondo is to her. Oh, and the Oedo Greater Postal Service would be a thing.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 19 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

Zenshi narrowly missed being hit by a flying, purple-haired kunoichi from the entrance of Yorozuya's parlor.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWO and a HALF YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Merchants?" echoes Kamui, when Zenshi reiterates the report in as few words as possible. He has just come back from some negotiation with a foreign prince's delegation — what was it? Prince Baka? — for under the table Harusame protection, and he is all but talkative.

"I know them," Petty Officer Jinlin says flatly. "The Kaientai, a company run by humans. They're quite successful, apparently."

"Oh, humans!" chirps Kamui.

"And they want to deal with us, why?" inquires Abuto, poking at the touch-screen monitor to browse a few incoming correspondences.

"They want to buy armaments," Zenshi reads from his latest reports.

"Reason? Aren't they merchants?" Kamui says, rubbing a reddened knuckle. From what Zenshi can see, the boy has probably taken out his stress — though what stress the carefree Yato suffers from is beyond them all — one on the training room's stiff, metal dolls.

"Space interaction has become increasingly perilous," Zenshi explains, "and they require firearms."

"I'd say that's reasonable," Abuto conferred. "We, as a battleship, do have more cannons than we could possibly ever need."

Zenshi passes the documents to Mei, who briefly scans over them just for show, and then retreats from the room. She never reads those documents.

She does, however, stack them very neatly.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Gin-san!" came the anguished cry, exaggeratedly dramatic sobs raking the air. All Zenshi saw was a mass of lavender hair, and he stiffened when the woman crawled to her feet. She mutters to herself before attempting to enter Yorozuya's office again, tiptoeing up the stairs with practiced stealth. As if she was not already creepy enough in Zenshi's book, Sa-chan suddenly grafted herself to the roof and slithered to the back of the house.

Zenshi decided it would be a good time to leave.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWO and a HALF YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Not bad at all," Abuto appraises, surveying the merchant's crew of ships. "A decent fleet they got there."

As the two main spacecrafts pull alongside one another, the merchant ship's captain and his aide cross onto the Harusame warship. They are led to cabin two, designated for on-ship negotiations with outsiders.

The manager is, honestly, not what Zenshi expects. He laughs with brash loudness, as if his brain is empty, and simply asks how they are doing. He has no regard for formality, though he is very amicable, and grabs Zenshi's hand, shaking vigorously.

"Hello!" he calls, with slightly too much force, "I'm Sakamoto Tatsuma! A pleasure to meet you! Ahaha!"

He mistakes Zenshi for the captain, but Zenshi doesn't say a word until Kamui very offhandedly corrects him.

The man, with a head of ridiculously curly brown hair, simply keeps laughing. His vice-captain, a shorter woman wearing a round straw hat and a dark cloak, pushes him aside irately.

"I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say you're the real negotiator?" Kamui approaches, with a smile.

"I'd say you're stabbing in broad daylight," replies the woman tersely, but with a hint of humor. "The Kaientai's Sakamoto and Mutsu," she adds, reaching a hand out to shake with captain, vice-captain, and lieutenant.

Abuto's mouth forms a slight _oh_, nodding in recognition.

"What brings a human's merchant ship here?" asks Kamui, lacing his fingers in seemingly thoughtful bridge beneath his chin. "You know, you're dealing with _pirates_, here."

"I like to think I'm well-versed in the ways of space pirates," Mutsu answers emphatically. "At least, better than this one." She jerks a thumb at her captain, who has tilted his head up to study the room's high tech lights and computers.

"Oh? Us Harusame are the brutal type. I'm warning you in a friendly way," Kamui says. Zenshi often thinks that the captain lacks tact, but that's just Kamui. He interrupts the conversation before Kamui can wind himself into a circle.

"It is a pleasure to host Mutsu of the Chidori on one of our Harusame ships," he greets courteously, nodding her way. She gives the briefest of smiles.

"I appreciate the sentiment," Mutsu replies, "but it seems I'm no longer affiliated with the Chidori. The Kaientai, however, is where you will find me."

"Of course," complies Zenshi. "Your request for a set of fleet armaments is negotiable."

"I'd expect nothing less."

Kamui is staring now, interest piqued at the mention of "Chidori", another pirate group once said to be on par with the Harusame.

"Hey Mutsu," says Sakamoto, with a chuckle, "d'ya see that?"

He points at the screen monitor behind Kamui.

"They're already giving us the cannons."

Mutsu smiles, a wry expression.

"I told you, Tatsuma. I'd expect nothing less."

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

The elevator ride down was dusty and silent, full of buzzing warm air and the absence of morning freshness to accompany him. When he stepped out onto Yoshiwara's entering street, he paused.

There was, undeniably, the scent of an outsider.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He is so, so proud of his photo that he puts it up in his room.

His father, however, is never home to see it.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

He sprinted down the main street, following the familiar smell. Reaching Hinowa's place, which was now completely renovated and fixed up, he slipped inside the parlor to find only the proprietress relaxing in her chair, brewing a cup of tea.

"Tsukki has a message," Hinowa said. "She and the Hyakka are at Hosen's old palace. She said something about capturing an illegal drug ring." The woman went on, half conversing with herself and half explaining Yoshiwara to Zenshi. "Mostly, drug rings are discreet enough that even Yoshiwara doesn't care. But apparently this stuff is called _Paradise_ or something, and it's deadly."

"It has dangerous side-effects," Zenshi told her knowledgeably.

"I'd probably guess as much," sighed Hinowa. "Check on her, but don't interrupt their work."

Zenshi nodded, only stopping to grab his customary cloak before heading back out into the streets.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO :.<strong>

His mother plucks the _guzheng_ with skillful delicacy.

His father, however, is never home to hear it.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

It hit him like an ocean wave, overwhelming and choking. Zenshi ducked back into an alley, inhaling sharply as if to confirm his suspicions.

They were, evidently, inside Hosen's palace. He pursued the trail, and once he entered the palace's main corridors, he only came upon a few Hyakka.

At first, they questioned why he was there. Then, when a few came back to report on the situation, they were too startled to care.

"They found the ringleaders?" one woman exclaimed, alarmed.

"No, they didn't," said the scout, "there were some suspicious people in Hosen's study."

"Then what about the drug ring?"

"I don't know if they're related, but only that they—"

There was a deafening crash, and the women ran outside to see the commotion. From outside, a clear view of the main building revealed a collapsed roof, clouded with debris and dust. Several figures leaped out from the palace and into the streets, most of them remaining on rooftops and dodging south.

Zenshi confirmed, by sight, his apprehensive predictions.

He pulled his cloak over his shoulders and drew the hood tightly over his head, obscuring everything but his eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO :.<strong>

There is something terrifying in the way Umibouzu stands.

Zenshi's father, however, has never shown that fear.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

Tsukuyo brandished a few kunai, and the three perpetrators retreated onto opposite rooftops.

"Don't move! Yer surrounded!" exclaimed the leader of the Hyakka, fiercely. "Give it up, we know you've got the drugs!"

"Drugs?" came the incredulous reply, from the shortest of the three darkly dressed intruders. The voice was feminine, light, and snarky. "We're not here for drugs, missy."

"You're obviously here for something!" accused another kunoichi from Tsukuyo's pursuing team. "The symbol on that one's shoulder makes it obvious!"

There are three total, but the one on the leader's right does have a faded Harusame badge inked on the shoulder of his cloak.

"Harusame!" came the outraged cry. "We know you're the ones dealing the Paradise drugs!"

"That's not our faction," the pirate leader replied sourly. One of her associates whispered something to her, and she audibly sighed in exasperation. "All right," she said, apparently relenting, "We'll use _that_."

The man on her right leapt down behind a building, and then resurfaced moments later with a struggling Seita locked in his grasp.

"Tsukuyo-nee!" Seita shrieked, his voice garbled in the choke hold.

"Seita!" Tsukuyo exclaimed, her toughened expression slackening into one of horror. Almost immediately, the Hyakka lurched forward as one, but the leader of the intruder trio whipped out a curved, short knife and accepted transfer of the hostage to herself. Now in possession of Seita, she pressed the blade to the child's throat.

"Move, and there goes his head," she said, dangerously low. Even from a distance, they could see the blade pressing so slightly into Seita's skin.

Zenshi disappeared into the shadows, melding into the back alleys as he wove his way around the district. His presence, at least a majority of it, was cloaked with expert experience. When he found a ladder up onto a higher balcony, he nimbly climbed his way up, carefully ascending as quietly as possible.

He knelt where he stood, a finger to his lips.

He couldn't, however, prevent the majority of the Hyakka's eyes from flashing in his direction. One of the pirates whipped around.

Zenshi's fist connected with the man's jaw, throwing the intruder towards Tsukuyo's currently frozen team. When the second accompanying assailant turned to apprehend Zenshi, he ducked away rapidly and went for the leader.

She ducked away nimbly, knife locked in position by Seita's throat.

In an instant, Tsukuyo had leapt into the fray, her kunai whizzing past Zenshi's ears and landing just left of the second intruder. The two cloaked attackers, one man and one woman, pulled their thick hoods from their faces and drew matching umbrellas. Tsukuyo and Zenshi both took a step back in unison.

The man, who had recovered from Zenshi's initial strike, rubbed his jaw and growled beneath his breath. The woman, whose unwavering, gray gaze sent a shiver through the armed courtesans, aimed her umbrella at them.

"You are contending with powers far higher than you can comprehend," she warned. "The new King of the Night's orders are absolute. It would be more convenient for all of us if you simply put down your weapons."

"King of the Night?" Tsukuyo spat. "Ya mean to say that that red-haired brat is our ruler? What a joke. And who are _you_ supposed t'be?"

"The Harusame's elite squad," replied the man. "We're here on surveillance. We do not intend to oppose you."

"Sure ya don't," drawled Tsukuyo, grip tightening on her kunai. "Since y'all have already kidnapped Seita, I'd say it's safe to assume that yer gonna call a truce with us."

"Look, missy," said their leader, who pulled off her hood and issued a sharp glare at all of the other women. "I don't know what your purpose here is, but you're in the way. The captain specifically told me not to decapitate anyone, so if you value your head, you'll refrain from making me lose my temper."

"And you are?" snapped Tsukuyo, advancing few steps forward, despite the umbrellas raised to shoot at a moment's notice. "No, don't tell me. Some big guy's little girl, on a mission to prove she ain't a ditz."

"_Excuse_ me?" came the shrill, outraged exclamation. Zenshi, a bit surprised, had not expected Tsukuyo to out-sass the other woman. The Hyakka, at least a few of them, smiled beneath their masks.

"If you insult our esteemed Lieutenant Mei again, we won't hold back," said the woman, whose parasol was still raised threateningly. Now Zenshi wanted to laugh. The entire time, he'd recognized Mei and Jinlin, plus a third, newer member of his former aide's squad. But _lieutenant_? While his own promotion had proved to be a shocking power play by Abuto and a few others, this was simply ludicrous.

"They won't hurt Seita," Tsukuyo deduced beneath her breath. Behind her back, she signaled for the Hyakka to begin advancing. Out loud, she called, "Then prove it to me!"

"Prove _what_?"

Tsukuyo threw a kunai, and Mei deflected it with ease.

"How about _you_," taunted Mei, "prove to me that you can actually fight? Or is that your bodyguard right there?"

She nodded haughtily at Zenshi; the Yato man was rather put off by the fact that she, along with the others, still had not recognized him. Perhaps because his trip to town obscured his scent with that of many humans?

"No, he's just the audience," Tsukuyo said dryly. "He doesn't do much."

"I'm sure," snarled Mei, her grip tightening on Seita.

Tsukuyo moved forward quickly, but the Yato overwhelmed her almost immediately. Jinlin and the other officer passed her in an instant, dispatching almost every single Hyakka with quick, calculated blows to the back of the head or the gut. When they had successfully knocked every woman unconscious — cautiously avoiding vital blows — they whirled around to face Tsukuyo, who, in shock, had been rooted to the spot.

"Just take these last two out," Mei ordered. "We have what we need, it's just getting out that's the problem."

Tsukuyo lunged for the pale-haired Yato woman, but Jinlin apprehended her. The other man, whom Zenshi didn't realize, branched away from his partner. Now facing Zenshi, he brandished his umbrella.

"All right, Mr. Bystander," he said gruffly, "it's time to take a nap."

The older Yato man very nearly disappeared, with the immensity of his speed. Every time Zenshi managed to evade, however, he realized that his attacker was increasing the ferocity of his blows, hoping that one strong hit, even just a graze, would take Zenshi out.

He apologized silently to whoever owned the shop across the way — and threw the man directly into the building.

The force Zenshi applied was so great that the building crumbled in on itself, if only the front wall. He dove into the dust, finding the Yato officer, and driving his hand so hard into the wall beside him that the pressure split the man's ear across the lobe and scarred his cheek.

"Lights out," Zenshi mouthed almost inaudibly, his one arm pinning down the man's, and his free hand pushing a choke hold until his opponent faded from consciousness.

He turned back to see how Tsukuyo was faring. The dust from the crash, however, obscured his view until he leapt back outside. The head courtesan was parrying adroitly with Jinlin, who relentlessly swung her parasol with a speed that sufficed for both offense and defense.

Tsukuyo struck out with a kunai; she missed.

The umbrella crashed laterally into her shoulder, sending her sprawling across the rooftop. A few straggling Hyakka, not quite decommissioned, cried out and tried to reach her, but could not stand.

Tsukuyo pushed herself to her feet, slightly unsteady. She held her left arm, which was probably bruised beneath the battered sleeve. Nonetheless, she used her good arm to draw another throwing knife.

At this point, Zenshi had drawn his own umbrella, and fired three precise shots in the direction of Jinlin's feet. The woman leapt backwards, sliding to a halt beside Mei. Both turned to see the masked Yato, who easily sprang to Tsukuyo's side.

"Oh? You hired one of us as your bodyguard?" said Mei, amused. "We're quite an expensive mercenary clan. How _ever_ did you afford it?"

"It's not an it, it's a _him_," Tsukuyo hissed, "and Yoshiwara, if ya haven't noticed, is very wealthy."

"It's kind of gross, if you ask me," Mei snorted.

"I know, yer a perfect match," sneered Tsukuyo, glaring heavily. Mei and Tsukuyo exchanged a battle of curses and insults with such great intensity that it was a wonder no one began to bleed from their ears.

"Jinlin!" shouted Mei, pointing at Tsukuyo, who readied herself for battle. Zenshi placed a few fingers on her good shoulder, careful when she winced. Silently, he pushed her back and brandished his old umbrella.

He looked down and noticed that it was the one with a golden insignia, that of his father's family.

Jinlin swung her umbrella.

He ducked, slamming the handle of his own weapon into her abdomen and sending her flying half a block away. She hit a wall hard, and fell heavily to the ground. Without hesitation, Zenshi aimed his umbrella at Mei and Seita.

"Are you sure?" taunted his former aide, pressing the knife deeper into Seita's flesh. A bead of blood formed on the boy's neck, sliding thinly to his collarbone. "Don't you need your employer's directions, first?"

"He ain't got any," shouted Tsukuyo. "I'm not his employer."

"Oh? Then—"

Suddenly, Mei froze.

Zenshi was behind her, his hand grasped around her own, guiding the knife away from Seita's throat. When she retaliated, Zenshi swept a kick across the back of the girl's knees, causing her to fall in a painful crumple. One hand pushed Seita towards Tsukuyo, while the other hand parried a strike with his umbrella. Mei rapidly rebounded to her feet and fired her parasol's gun.

Zenshi let the bullet zip past his ear, hitting a building behind him. His right arm knocked away the umbrella, while his left gripped the woman by the cloak collar. She struggled until she recognized the eyes beneath the heavily cloaked figure before her.

Dark blue, with stitches and scars and the weight of everything and nothing in them.

"Ze—"

"Lights out, Petty Officer."

* * *

><p>This was kind of hard to write, too. And it's long. Haha.<p>

By the way, if you're not up to date with the manga, sorry about the spoilers. Mutsu and all.

**Notes: **-SAKAMOTO CAMEO!

-Mutsu is a pirate!

-This is long?

-I need to do homework?

-This is such a hard thing to write sometimes.

-I don't like typing with nails that are too long aRGHHH.

Ushishishi, ciao ~


	20. - Twenty -

**TWENTIETH CHAPTER! *cheers!***

Please do tell me what you guys think! I've been writing more from Mei's point of view, so I want to know how that's going.

Also, there HAVE been time skips.

And they're purposefully distracting.

Anyway, what do you think of developments so far?

fun facts!

**Ch. 19: **When Tsukki says "it's not an it, it's a him," it's sort of a reference to that new TV series where some guy is connected to the technological mainframe or whatever. I forgot the name, but sounds pretty cool, and just by commercial I ship the guy and the gal who guards him. Just sayin'. lol.

**Yorozuya yo Eien Nare: **In _Be Forever Yorozuya_, the second movie, when Tsukki cuts her hair, Zen has allowed it to grow out.

**Random: **The most I know about ships is either from NCIS, several cruises, or the internet. Also, the hierarchy of officers is probably totes off, but who really cares?

**DISCLAIMER: the creator, the gorilla, the ultimate man - Sorachi Hideaki.**

on a different note, he once participated in a draw SNK characters meme, and the moment I looked at the one who drew Jean, I internally shouted

GORILLA!

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 20 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, PRESENT :.<strong>

Kamui's laughter rang hauntingly through the halls, accompanied by the heavy footsteps of her personal failure.

_You've been had_.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ONE YEAR AGO :.<strong>

"Lieutenant. Lieutenant? Are you even listening?"

Evidently, he is not, because his head is down and he is asleep at the table.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Can ya go mail this fer me?"

It seemed as if his only job nowadays was to mail things.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ONE YEAR AGO :.<strong>

She puts down the stack of papers and sits down. Curled up at the head of the meeting table, in the vacant room, it is so quiet she can hear him breathe.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

Tsukuyo never really said anything, but he knew without asking. After the scuffle with the Yato, she had grown apprehensive.

She never explained the reasons for pursuing the terrorist.

But nevertheless, she continued.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ONE YEAR AGO :.<strong>

She considers for a moment — the thought flashes briefly, like a lightning bolt — going to brew a cup of peach tea. She knows he likes it, and she would add a leaf of mint, too. Then again, she prefers hot chocolate over anything bland like tea.

But she just sits in tranquil silence, letting the tired lieutenant sleep a few minutes longer.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

The man that bumped into his shoulder stumbled, tripping flat onto his face. Zenshi offered a hand, apologetically grimacing.

"Ahaha, it's all good, pal!" exclaimed the man, pushing his round sunglasses up his nose. "I think I'm forgetting something, though."

He whipped an envelope from his pocket.

"I forgot the mail this!"

* * *

><p><strong>.: ONE YEAR AGO :.<strong>

Her eyes flutters open, and she finds that someone has draped a cloak over her shoulders. Instead of waiting for the lieutenant to wake up, she herself had fallen asleep.

In front of her — a steaming cup of hot chocolate, marshmallows and all.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

Zenshi wondered how someone who set off to mail something could so easily forget where he was going and what he was doing. Even so, he followed the man to the post office, entering the line behind him.

"So, are ya sending a love letter or something?" asked the man boisterously.

"No," replied Zenshi, lacking all intention to engage in conversation. The man, however, caught everything except Zenshi's cues. He glanced down at the envelope in Zenshi's hands.

"Hey, fancy that!" he exclaimed, beaming. "Bring up your letter, I can't really read upside down. But I think…"

Zenshi, though rather bothered by the fact that he had no personal space around his stranger, complied. The man, in all his brown-haired, curly glory, laughed so loudly that it grated on the Yato's sensitive ears.

"Would you look at that!" A finger is jabbed on the mailing address. "That's me!"

Zenshi's eyes shot down to the paper, which he had not bothered to read. He did, after all, respect others' privacy.

Written in Tsukuyo's slanted, sharp scrawl was the name of a merchant company he'd met in a different place and a different time:

The Kaientai.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ONE YEAR AGO :.<strong>

His shoulders are stiff and the crick in his neck turns his movements almost robotic, but he lurches to a conscious state with considerable effort. The last he remembers, he was reading something about the new and improved technology of space-fishing? Briefly, Zenshi recalls wondering about whether or not the galleys would have space-jelly that night, but immediately discards the thought.

Instead, his attention diverts itself to the snoozing aide at his left, cheek pressed to her arms, which cushion her head. She's drooling out of the corner of her lip, and snores lightly, but the fact that she's there — albeit with a daunting stack of documents to come — is endearing.

Zenshi pulls his cloak from his shoulders and gently lays it on hers.

If the galley doesn't have space-jelly for dinner, he decides, he'll settle for hot chocolate.

Though, to be honest, he isn't much of a sweets person.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

"No mailing fees necessary!" laughed Sakamoto Tatsuma, accepting the letter once Zenshi realized who he was talking to. The chances that such a coincidental meeting would occur were beyond him; Zenshi was more appalled by the fact that he had not remembered the general manager of such an important merchant business.

Then again, he supposed, the former pirate Mutsu had been the real executive at the time.

"Kintoki had told me earlier that I was to expect mail," Sakamoto continued, whether or not Zenshi was listening. "Something about helping out a gal. Of course I'd say yes."

Zenshi stared, uncomprehending. More accurately, the sun was screaming the start of summer, and despite the light, borrowed yukata he wore, he was practically boiling. He huddled miserably under his umbrella, feeling sweat bead along his neck.

"I should call Mutsu. Where is she, anyway?"

Zenshi, looking dark and discontent, simply shook his head.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

There is, in fact, year cake being delivered. Though, unsurprisingly, there is suddenly a long, long line from deck five down to the galleys.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

He didn't like to touch people uselessly, but he was very tempted to grab Sakamoto by the throat just to shut him up. Tsukuyo, obviously, had been rubbing off on him; Zenshi found that his temper had shortened quite a bit.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The squeaky announcer boy is incessant — and right in front of them.

"Do you think we'll be back home in time for the celebration? This sure is early for year cake, isn't it?" he beams, swiveling around to talk to the two. The poor kid is affectionately called "Tabs," because despite his loquacious, overly sociable (and somewhat nervous) nature, he manages to keep tabs on almost everything he's assigned. He has been called both an idiot and a super-genius, the former for being such a klutz, and the latter for his remarkable multitasking skills.

Tabs is, in fact, around Mei's age, in his early twenties. He was not a student at the intergalactic school, but he had attended a well-to-do Yato academy — more like a dojo, but nonetheless a temple school — and is well-versed in the ways of the universe. Or so he claims. He's talkative, and usually that immediately deters Zenshi from any interaction, but it's usually the sweet type of conversation.

Today, Zenshi doesn't mind Tabs and his excited entreaties to year cake. He finds that after his ordeal with the fumes, he is oddly sedated. The boy speaks in an animated fashion, but he's never disrespectful. He tags his "Lieutenants" and "sirs" on as suitable, and never drops his standard dialect. He would, otherwise, probably burst into a heavily Yato accented blur that only Mei might understand.

"Lieutenant," he inquires, with his ridiculously wide grin that stretches across his face — he's a thin fellow, with a ski-jump nose and a couple of freckles — "Do you know what our course is going to be?"

"We should arrive at the Harusame space station in thirty or so hours," Zenshi answers. "If negotiations do not take a long time, we should be able to take a detour home in time for New Year's."

"That's great news!" exclaims the boy, nudging Mei's shoulder.

"Yeah, but when has the space station ever processed us on time?" she snorts, rolling her eyes.

"True," agrees Tabs, nodding. He has an unruly flop of brown hair that his commanding officer — that is, Ensign Delong — has tried to shear off multiple times. The boy is so endearing and pathetically puppy-like that the superior officer relented at some point or another.

"Hey Tabs," says Mei, out of the blue, "who takes care of announcements when you're not up in the bridge?"

"Oh, Shaojun, the tech," he answers. "Whenever you hear the really muffled announcements, that's him."

"Oh, so you're the best announcer, aren't you?" sneers Mei, teasingly. Tabs simply throws her a haughty grin, wiggling his eyebrows. Even Zenshi offers the boy a small smile.

"Remind me to hire you if I ever need an announcer," Zenshi says amiably.

"Will do, Lieutenant!"

* * *

><p><strong>.: End of MAY, ONE WEEK AGO :.<strong>

"You want to go _where_?"

"This planet." She shoved the papers his way, onto the desk where his feet were propped up lazily. "Yer familiar with a merchant, right?"

"Merchant? Who told you that?"

"Kagura."

Gin stared at the blonde courtesan with his particularly dead dead-fish eyes.

"All right, I do know a guy. Sakamoto Tatsuma, an old Joui patriot with an empty head and a full-blown merchant company out in space."

"Give me his contacts."

Gintoki eyed her, not without concern, and rummaged in his desk. He handed over the business card that once came from Mutsu's hand.

* * *

><p>Shorter one for ya after all those long ones.<p>

Also: WHAT HAPPENED TO MEI AGHHH?!

WHERE IS THIS FREAKING PLOT GOING AADSHGLAHGHHH?!

WHY AM I NOT DOING HOMEWORK AHHHH?!

**Thanks for sticking with me to twenty! Long fics aren't often popular, so I hope you're enjoying!**


	21. - Twenty-One -

FUN FACTS!

**Ch. 20: **Year cake is like, my favorite thing. It's called "_nian gao_" and it's like a sticky rice cake. Looove anythin with sticky rice, like mochi and stuff.

**Random: **Jellyfish is actually quite good...(?!)

**Random: **Headcanon is that Abuto does the NCIS headslap.

**Disclaimer: THE YAKULT KING IS WAYYYY TOOOO HIGHHHHH! (aka Takasugi jokes, as well as Takasugi himself, are not mine)**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 21 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Playing cards is a popular pastime, and the general officers' lounge finds itself crowded with several games of _Uno_ going on all at once. Tabs turns out to be a superb player; most likely, his skill should be accredited to his keen eyes and sharp organizational skills. Mei is the brash one who throws down a +2 card just to spite the next player in the circle. Coincidentally, that would happen to be Zenshi, who would often just reverse the direction and then wreak havoc on the sniggering aide the next time around.

Eventually, the crew grows tired of waiting for the galley's iron-fisted head chef — Guma, the medic's wife — to actually allow them to have the year cake, and most of them laze about in their off hours, surfing the channels of intergalactic television.

"Do we have any Earth channels?" asks a crewman. "They have good shows, sometimes."

"Nothing we can really pick up from here," answers another, who commandeers the remote control. Most of them just take long naps, and intermittently wake up to continue their now-sparse card games. Since the open space of pure nothingness outside makes it hard to discern day from night, the next thirty hours are spent in fitful wakes and sleeps.

Abruptly, while the one Yato is flicking through mostly infomercials, Kamui's face appears on the screen.

"Why hello!" he exclaims loudly, causing the wall's speakers to screech with static feedback. The entire room jolts to life, most officers nervously grumbling as they awaken. Mei, as usual, flings an object — luckily, it is only a magazine — across the room and strings a lengthy staff of obscenities at Kamui until Tabs slaps a hand over her mouth. He is, inevitably, tackled to the ground, and strangled until Zenshi emotionlessly walks over and steps on Mei's hand.

She yowls, fingers wrapping around Zenshi's ankle like an angry cat clawing away. When she realizes that everyone's staring at her, and Kamui looks a bit irritated up on screen, she pauses and just lies there in brooding silence.

"Our apologies, Kamui _Danchou_," Tabs manages to spit out, "she's not a morning person."

"Is it morning on our ship?" asks Kamui, brightening. "I can't really tell. But anyway, we're due to arrive in about two hours, boys and girls, ladies and gents, brutes and idiots." He glances over his shoulder, probably at Abuto. "So _stations_, please. Probably in, I don't know, five minutes."

"Who are you calling a brute?!" hollers Mei, just as the screen zips black and Kamui is gone.

"I will step on your face," Zenshi tells her unequivocally. The mollified sensation of being stuck in sweet molasses is gone; instead, he's a tad bit irate and in no mood for nonsense. He has slept for a good seven hours, a night's worth of sleep, after playing Uno for three. The rest of the time was either staring at the screen or staring out the window.

"I hate you," Mei hisses, "now get your stinkin' boot off of me."

His toe is still stomped on his hand, from which Tabs had been freed. Zenshi throws her a withering glare and then moves away.

"Hey, can someone charge you for that? Hello? Misconduct? Unreasonable aggression towards another officer? Guys?" Mei gestures to a few other women in the room, but they just slyly cover their smiles behind hands and cloaks. The younger Yato seethes, holding back another biting witticism when Zenshi brushes past her and motions for her to follow. Though he is prone to avoiding unnecessary physical contact, his preferences usually pertain only to affectionate actions — stomping on his aide, however, simply provides him the greatest amusement.

"That was cruel, yes?" she mutters.

He sighs.

"I almost died," Tabs whispers. The boy creeps up next to Zenshi, and Mei almost forgets his presence when he grows silent.

"You're a Yato," she growls. "Do something about it."

"Yato?" echoes Zenshi. "All I see is a noisy cat."

"I hate you."

He smirks then, and for some reason it always makes her smile back. And she bursts into laughter, despite the fact that he is terrible and sadistic and not funny at all.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

"You want passage on our ship?" Mutsu asked. The slightest hint of incredulity showed only in the minor inflection of her uninterested monotone. "We're not exactly a passenger—"

"Just a few people."

"To…?"

"Sciuttla. We've got business there."

"That's a mighty far destination," noted Mutsu. "We _are_ headed there, but would you mind explaining why?"

"There was a calculated terrorist attack on us," Tsukuyo explained. "The terrorist's next target is Sciuttla. There are ties between the Harusame and this terrorist that might spell trouble for Yoshiwara. I'm endin' it."

"Harusame?" repeated Mutsu. "Do you know what you're dealing with, here?"

"Of course." Tsukuyo's expression hardened. "Yoshiwara's current 'ruler' is a Harusame captain. We've got reason to believe he's usin' terrorists to both suppress the Hyakka and threaten us. _And_ he's drainin' our funds while we're not lookin'. It's an obvious threat, and I won't stand for it."

"Be careful what you involve yourself in," Mutsu warned. "Isn't it just better to let them be? You can still run a safe city under their hand."

"Hardly," Tsukuyo argued. "If it's not _our_ city, it's not safe. Hosen's reign of terror may be over, but it's still no better than before."

"Well, I suppose we can—"

"Mutsu! There you are! I've been looking _everywhere_ for ya!"

Almost immediately, the Kaientai's vice-captain whipped out a gun and promptly shot at the man with a brown nest for hair. Tsukuyo froze and the bespectacled captain staggered in mid-step.

Ultimately, the bullet went nowhere, simply because Zenshi had snatched it with his bare fingers, looking all but content.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The ship pulls into the massive space station without trouble, docking all three of their crafts in the designated ports for the 7th Division. There's trouble along the line, however, because a fleet from Division 3 had been brainless enough to pull into a dock marked with the number 2 painted in enormous scale across the entire wall.

"Whoever works under that captain, I feel sorry for," Abuto sniggers, sweeping his cape over his shoulders.

"_All techs to the bridge, all techs to the bridge_," Tabs calls through a microphone. He turns to Zenshi. "Well I guess it's your time to shine, yes?"

"He doesn't shine, he polishes," jeers Mei, shutting up only when Zenshi folded his arms.

"All right, knuckleheads," says Abuto, rounding up his little diplomatic entourage. "We're going to see off our beloved Danchou to the meeting hall, and then we're going to wander because we do that every time we're here. Except Zenshi, because he's basically our stupid captain's mouth."

"First one to find the elephant tapestry wins!" exclaims Mei, taking off with a few of the younger officers without waiting for permission.

The inside of the space station is grandiose and sparkling, made of the finest materials and the most expensive decorations. The elephant tapestry is, actually, worth trillions, and the funds for those are from obviously shady elements.

Kamui, blatantly the youngest captain there, saunters in like he owns the place. Quite a few have grudges against him, but for the majority of meetings, Zenshi stands post next to Kamui, while the boy simply devours whatever is at the table within seconds.

Mei has already set off on her quest for the elephant wall-hanging — though to what extent the design is actually an elephant is rather dubious — and she even has Tabs on video conference so he can join the fun. Though Kamui usually wants to accompany the tapestry safari, he is dragged to the meeting hall, where the food eventually distracts him.

"_Danchou_, please pay attention," Abuto pleads before he drops off the boy like a concerned parent. "To both the meeting and what you say. No more incidents."

Kamui has a running record of insulting other captains and most of all, their admiral.

"Bud, make sure he doesn't do something stupid."

Zenshi throws Abuto a pointed look, as if to ask when Kamui _ever_ did something not stupid, and nods.

The doors to the meeting room open, and as soon as Zenshi sees who is seated next to the admiral, he freezes.

He turns on Kamui then, grabbing Abuto before the man can leave, and runs.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, THREE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

"Well," Kamui said, setting the gold rabbit on the table. "You didn't fail."

"I might as well have," growled Mei sourly.

"And why is that?"

"I got shown up."

"By?"

"Humans."

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Abuto doesn't question him, only replaces him immediately. There is a stern expression on the older Yato's face, but he relents and lets Zenshi go. Soon enough, the dark-haired lieutenant catches up to Mei, who is delighted to see that he has joined their search.

"I swear, this place grows bigger every time we come here." She points at a tapestry. "What do you think that one is?"

"Space-jelly."

"C'mon, that's _not even close_," she squeals, half snorting and half laughing. She motions to a few of her friends, who tag along, and soon the search becomes a collaborative effort with some minor officers from Division 10.

"By the way, why aren't you at the meeting?"

"Wasn't in the mood."

"Clearly." Mei rolls her eyes. "But then who's watching the captain?"

"Abuto."

"All right," she says, stopping briefly. "Then what are _you_ doing?"

"Looking for an elephant."

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

He swept the floor with untold grace, and Hinowa hummed to a radio tune. The song was absolutely horrendous, albeit catchy. Tsukuyo found that Zenshi's quiet administrations — he was, surprisingly, a master of housekeeping — sometimes lulled her into a catatonic state, leaving her staring blankly at Seita's cereal bowl. Even when the child waved his arms ecstatically before her, she didn't register until he clapped his spoon against his bowl.

"Don't play with the utensils, please," Hinowa admonished gently. Tsukuyo, broken from her thoughtless reverie, turned to watch Zenshi return with a basket of laundry.

"I'll take that," she said quickly, grabbing the clothes. In her rush to stand, she kicked the chair she'd been seated it, and it clattered to the ground. She flushed, righted the furniture, and then turned back to Zenshi.

The Yato had already (somehow) folded a majority of the clothes, and was simply observing her uncharacteristic clumsiness with mild amusement.

"Sometimes I wish you would say somethin'," she snapped.

"Somethin'," he quipped.

Tsukuyo grabbed one of Seita's shirts and threw it at him. Zenshi let it hit his head, the fabric sliding to his shoulder. Seita and Hinowa giggled, while Tsukuyo ground a heel into the floorboards and stomped heatedly away.

"What's _her_ problem?" asked Seita through a laugh. Since there was no answer, he just kept laughing.

"I think she need to let off some steam. She's been quite busy," Hinowa commented, while urging Seita to finish his breakfast.

"Her hair's not even tied up right!"

It was true — Tsukuyo's usually neat updo was bedraggled and loose. She looked more like an angry ninja in heels than anything else.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEAR AGO :.<strong>

The hour is spent quietly, uneventfully after the elephant search ended. Mei and her pirate companions end up playing Uno in front of the old, dusty elephant hanging to pass the time.

When a higher up from Division 2 comes to collect his men, Mei jumps to her feet and motions for Zenshi to follow.

"We were supposed to wait somewhere over there, but I never do." She skips along the hallway, retracing most of their steps until they find the rest of their entourage, posted patiently outside the meeting hall. Zenshi lingers behind a pillar, utilizing his solitary, aloof mask that allowed him to stand apart from the group.

"Kamui-dono, that was a fine suggestion you made," comes the pompous voice of the admiral. "How very clever. We'll certainly consider it."

"Thanks for the meal," replies Kamui cheerily. He and Abuto exit after the division heads of the other crews, and the young cherry-topped captain trots over to his officers. "Oh, Zen, we missed you."

"Did you, now?"

"Hardly," snorts Abuto. "You wouldn't have liked it, bud."

But Zenshi is looking around his vice-captain, watching the admiral talk to a figure still obscured by the doors swung ajar. He knows who is there; there is no reason for that man's presence, and Zenshi is thoroughly put off by it.

When the man walks into view, he jerks backwards so ferociously that he nearly knocks Mei over.

"Yo, Lieutenant, _watch it!_" she barks. He ducks around her quickly, refraining from casting another nervous glance over his shoulder. He curses himself continuously, hating his cowardice.

Before his father can see him, he slips down another hall.

* * *

><p>Kamui wants to keep Yoshiwara for the sake of fighting Gin one day,<p>

so instead of attacking outright and taking down Zen (Kamui knows that our main character is there, he just is...surprisingly patient)

he goes with the more subvert type of tactic.

Because, seriously.

Who gives a pickle about a golden bunny.


	22. - Twenty-Two -

Has anyone read the Gintama 479 spoilers?!

OIAHSGLKasjdflkahglkasjdf OMGGGGG I CANNOTTTTT

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gintama but - - ar ddding m eeEEEE - MUTSU IS A...?!**

**Sorachi, you amazing troll.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 22 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

He didn't need words to argue. Almost adamant that she drop the subject, Zenshi glared until the pressure forced Tsukuyo to grimace his way.

"Give me a good reason I shouldn't go," she growled, folding her arms and clenching her teeth down on her pipe.

"Sciuttla is politically unstable. They're in the midst of a civil war. There are very few safe areas."

"And?" Tsukuyo scowled.

"No one will be willing to take you."

"They are." Tsukuyo jerked a chin at the Kaientai's captain and vice-captain, who watched the conversation with discomfited awkwardness.

By his taciturn nature, Zenshi wanted the conversation to end. Tsukuyo, however, had an arcane stubbornness that shattered all hopes of ensuing silence. Circumstances were unfavorable; Zenshi gave her a sour glance and retreated upstairs, leaving Tsukuyo to barter her ridiculous proposals in the parlor.

He set his umbrella down, meandering to the hallway bathroom and splashing his face with water. June had hit with staggering heat, and he was far from comfortable in his old Yato clothing, but preferred them over standard Japanese apparel.

Continuing to think, Zenshi debated the validity of his prior statement. In truth, Sciuttla had long since overcome its civil war, but it was far from stable. The propagation of the new military coup's influence had resulted in several mysterious disappearances, finding trouble within rancorous riots and quixotic martyrs. Even if the government had somewhat reached a standstill, the people were far from quiet.

A knock at the door interrupted his astute review of foreign affairs. Seita appeared, his head of messy brown peeking around the door.

"Tsukuyo-nee is going to outer space?" he asked, plainly.

Zenshi simply sighed, standing.

"She has that intention," Zenshi told the boy, standing and wiping his face off. Though he'd been sitting in front of a meager electric fan for some time, the heat was stifling even indoors. Nonetheless, he followed the boy down the parlor to see where the deal with the Kaientai had progressed within the twenty quick minutes of his introspection.

Seated at the table, Sakamoto, Mutsu, and Tsukuyo were heatedly discussing the implications of travel.

"I must warn you, as I have done many times now, that travelling that far is dangerous. More than dangerous." Mutsu sipped her tea. The conversation seemed to have circled back to the basics.

"I told ya," Tsukuyo protested, "we can hold our own."

"Yes, but our ship has schedules to follow. We don't make our rounds to that area until around autumn in Earth time," Mutsu replied evenly. "If you'll wait until then, then fine."

"I'll—"

"Kindly decline your offer," Zenshi cut in.

"I told ya," Tsukuyo muttered beneath her breath scathingly, "to stay out of this."

"Maybe he's concerned for ya," butted in Sakamoto in his blunt effrontery.

"He doesn't want political trouble," replied Tsukuyo. "Typical."

Zenshi was at once thankful and reproachful of his own effusive demeanor. He never gushed emotion through facial expression, but instead it came in silence and condescension. Evidently, what Tsukuyo looked for was not to be looked down on; and Zenshi, quite literally scowling down his nose at her, only provoked her temper.

She read him with empirical ease, experience gained with a skillful few months of observation and practicality.

"Come with me fer a sec. We need t'talk." She gestured to him, and they stepped briefly outside Hinowa's shop parlor.

Despite her words, she fumed for a good two minutes before she actually said a thing.

"_Why_." She pulled her _kiseru _from her clenched teeth and tucked it into the one sleeve of her dark yukata. Her lavender eyes were hard, resembling unyielding amethyst.

"Because it puts your well-being in an endangering situation." _Because I care. Because I owe you my life. Because if I cannot pay you back with money or with labor, I will pay it back by protecting whatever it is I deem important._

"Yer a real smooth talker, aren't ya." Her gaze was accusing. She let the comment sit for another sweltering moment in the sun before continuing. "Nothin' you say fools me. I don't care what ya think about protecting us because we helped ya. I don't care what distorted visions you have for paying us back. I certainly don't care if ya just up and leave, like ya tried before."

Zenshi remained silent, guardedly resenting her dour domineering.

"What?" she demanded. "Can't prove I'm wrong? Tired of freeloadin'? I said you were free to stay. But just one thing: Don't. Get. In. My. Way."

Zenshi was naturally taciturn character, quiet but intellectual. Even so, had he looked pathetically like a lethargic dog, ears drooped and tongue lolling out with each pant. He feigned lack of concern, but Tsukuyo was purposefully unrelenting. As he grew more and more irritated by the sun — his poor, blue umbrella was lying closed in the guest room, sitting beside an electric fan he'd left on — she, for some reason, became more and more upset.

Her mercurial temperament was bizarre, but then again, even the rather sun-resistant Zenshi was feeling the adverse affects of the heavy rays on his skin.

"Uncomfortable yet?" she spat.

"Not at all," he replied through gritted teeth. He realized that he probably should've just begged for mercy, because her glare fixated him to the spot. The sun prickled his skin; though it didn't burn him or cause him much pain on the surface, the heavy heat and the permeating rays were veering on the edge of nausea. He could, like Kagura, stand a degree of sunlight, but he was nowhere near as accustomed to this planet's light intensity as she was.

He shrank somewhat into himself, shoulders slightly hunched. His mother, he thought with an inward smirk, would have slapped him straight.

"Ya sure yer all right?" she taunted. A ghost of a smile played her lips now, and Zenshi knew he was being teased.

Beads of sweat rolled down his face, and the amused glint in Tsukuyo's eyes increased. Almost insouciantly, the blonde courtesan began humming to herself, watching Zenshi's hands itch for a nonexistent umbrella.

"It sure is nice weather," she drawled, letting the words roll indulgently off her tongue.

"Superb," he forced out with mock conviviality. Inwardly, he was coiled to keep himself from unraveling. In this heat, it was easy for any Yato to uncurl and just lie flat on the ground, melting. But that would be his loss, and he refused to lose to Tsukuyo.

Only when he was visibly drenched in sweat, hands fisted tightly and shoulder's stiffened to cramps, did Tsukuyo let out a short bark of a laugh and tell him to come inside. They both sat down at the table, one satisfied straw-haired kunoichi beside a lugubrious Yato.

"It sure is hot," Mutsu said flatly.

Zenshi studied the table's wooden textures, flashing his kindred spirit an apathetic glance.

"Where were we?" Sakamoto laughed, graciously accepting a cinnamon roll that Seita pulled from seemingly nowhere. He offered food to their other guest, who politely declined.

"September," Tsukuyo said. "We were in September."

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

"He's like a big puppy, yes? Like Sadaharu, yes?" Kagura excitedly clamored when Zenshi followed Tsukuyo into Edo. Though a silent tagalong, he wasn't too on board with being called a dog.

"More like a stray," Tsukuyo corrected. "Why, again, are ya followin' me?"

Zenshi held up a stack of envelopes that she'd told him to mail.

"Right."

He tucked them into his pocket and continued until they reached the post office, where, almost deliberately, Tsukuyo lingered at the entrance.

* * *

><p>Setting up the ZenTsu?!<p>

b-b-b-b-but MUTSU!

MUTSUUU ISS AAAAa?!

Also known as

_YATO FOR GINTOKI_

_YATO FOR TAKASUGI_

_YATO FOR SAKAMOTO_

_duck-thing for zura._


	23. - Twenty-Three -

So I have a thing for S!Tsukki and cray cray sauce Zen.

BY THE WAY

SOME SCENES ILLUSTRATED ON MY DEVIANTART. :D

**Disclamer: Could it be...you're A YATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?!  
>Gori-sensei you troLL I LOVE YOU.<strong>

**Gintama is yours, through and through. Wouldn't have it any other way.**

* * *

><p><strong>Eyes of Wolves<strong>

_- 23 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Your arrival is certainly surprising," Admiral Abo says. The false inflection in his voice is typical of his attempts to ingratiate himself amongst the powerful and famous. His every move, however, is seen through by his guest.

"I happened to pass by," the man says nonchalantly.

"But what business does a man such as yourself have with the Harusame? From what I've heard, you tend to stay away from groups such as ourselves." The admiral smiles, sickeningly sweet. The other man, however, is inscrutable with his subtle nods and nonchalant ease of expression.

"Typically, no," he agrees, not quite oblique but not quite clear, either. "Personally, I find the Harusame to be an extraordinary preeminence in the galaxies. But at the same time, I must admit that with regards to morality and integrity, I hardly approve."

"Coming from you, that's quite interesting." Admiral Abo must think he's a skilled speaker if he can one-up this guest.

"Aside from petulant children and presumptuous neophytes for captains, the Harusame seem to be faring quite well." The man sauntered past the door, where the captains had exited and assembled their men. "I, on the other hand, have no fear of others undermining my intentions. I have no reason to hire a crew of yes-men."

"No?" responds Abo, bristling slightly.

"No," affirms the man, motioning to his secretary, who scuttles along after him with precise, quick steps. "To my ship, please."

"Yes, of course," says the bespectacled woman, motioning to a few others, who seem to be in charge of the man's ship.

"Well, it was nice of you to join us," Admiral Abo says as the man departs. "We would hope to see you once again, in the future."

The man turns.

"Don't hold your breath, Admiral, because I'm not holding mine." He raises a hand in salutation and exits the space station.

As he exits, the man walks briskly past several crewmen, most of whom regard him with surprise and vague recognition. As his diplomatic entourage marches regally past the docked ships, he casts a glance at the 7th Division.

From a distance, he spies a few Yato casting him momentary salutes before returning to their duties. He nods in approval, to himself.

He boards his ship, and as the floating sun that passes through this galactic region like wandering cattle rises from nowhere, he props his dark blue parasol on his shoulder. Distantly, he watches the 7th Division ship alongside his own until it parts ways, wondering with little amusement if one of the men in the bridge opposite his has an umbrella engraved with his name.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

"I was told," Mutsu said, just as she left, "to give this to you."

She handed him an envelope.

"From the embassy," she explained.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He is the quietest of the Yato, but the most perceptive and studious. He doesn't pick fights, but he's not exactly popular either. The other Yato, besides the few that attempt to talk to him — the famous Linter's son — and Mei, who doesn't fit in anywhere else — due to her more than delinquent attitude — there are few that find themselves in his presence.

The day Mei discovers that the quiet, brooding son of a politician is actually truly Yato is the day before the all-school assembly. The school itself is situated on a small, green planet divided into 50% greenhouse and 50% eco-friendly city. One moment, the land will be a flourishing, nearly tropical glade, and the next few acres over will be full of glass buildings and high-tech metro lines. Mostly known for the Omega Centauri Intergalactic Space Academy, dubbed "Ocentisa" for short, the planet is more often than not called "Ocengreen" rather than its native title, which is rather difficult to pronounce.

The all school assembly's most arduous task is most likely the fitting of the entire student body into the capital city's center auditorium. With over seven thousand Amanto of different shapes, sizes, and origins to account for, the trip from the boarding school's numerous apartment dorms to the speech arena itself is daunting.

In this colossal effort, students are arranged by planet and race — putting all the Inuisei, the Yato, the Dakini, the Shinra, even the Gorilla race together. Each race is fitted with their own traditional apparel, albeit in the school colors of gold, blue, and black (or white, depending on the event). Their typical uniforms, which are simply white collared tops emblazoned with the school's crest — a phoenix in flight surrounded by stars — in gold, with dark slacks or skirts. Some Amanto have such bizarre forms that their uniforms are modified, but the standards is standard, and bequeaths ultimate uniformity upon the students.

"I hate this," hisses Mei. "I hate all of this."

"You are the most pessimistic person I've ever met," complains one of her few friends, a slim Inuisei girl. Unfortunately, her race of dog-people are sequestered at the east row of buses, while the Yato are a ways away in the opposite direction. "It'll be fine if you just zone out or something."

"That's the _point_," Mei replies indignantly. "It's _boring_, and zoning out is _boring_."

"What, do you need fireworks?" snorts her friend, crinkling her muzzle. She pats Mei on the shoulder with a slender paw. "Just chill."

Mei rolls her eyes, but falls in line after her roommates, all of whom are Yato. There aren't many Yato, and though their numbers are small, they aren't the cozy, homey time of people. They are, by definition, the ultimate clique.

By far, they are the strongest race in the entire school, but the group of seven that usually adhere to one another like burrs are arrogant and condescending. Their leader is, quite unsurprisingly, the son of another politician. He's one of the rare Yato whose parents are not either pirates or businesspeople or simply hits for hire. Most girls follow him with strange, magnetic attractions, but he is, quote Mei, "an ass-kissing bastard."

Nevertheless, they're all put together for the assembly, and there's nothing she can do about it.

"You reek," Mei actually spits to his face as they step on the bus.

"I'm sorry?" he answers, with mock politeness. His name, she knows, is Rokudo, but she calls him "Weed" just to get on his nerves. Mei has that quality, evidently. "I'm sorry, did you want me to punch you?"

He's also very straightforward, like the antagonizing girl with the bright orange hair that sneers at him from her seat.

With his short temper, Rokudo takes a swing — and realizes that someone has caught his wrist and is currently about to break it.

"Sit down," Zenshi says brusquely. The tense silence locks them in an impasse, and Rokudo can either instigate the fight with the first blow or quietly comply. At this point, though the two boys are similar in height and build, Rokudo is arguably the strongest student in the entire school, the Yato cunning and blood thirst streaking through his veins like lightning. However, he is smart, and thus lowers his hand. Zenshi's grip reveals and immediate bruise, which Rokudo is imperious enough to ignore.

"Can you move any slower?" hisses Mei when he sits next to her, pushed by the next class.

"Possibly." He is silent for most of the bus ride not exactly inert but simply retracting into his aloof self. He is far from comfortable with the rancid aura emitting pure anger from a few seats behind him.

He never picks fights, but it doesn't mean everyone likes him.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

Zenshi tucked the envelope into his sleeve so that no one would see. After the Kaientai had long gone, he did not say much of the deal except a brief, "Don't count your eggs before they've hatched," which did nothing but leave Tsukuyo with a befuddled, irate expression.

"The Yato are plannin' to get rid of us. Sarutobi's sources place them in Sciuttla for a long period of time. I'm goin' to free this city."

_You want to play the heroine_, he thought rigidly.

"I'm not holding my breath."

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

She studied the silhouette of Yoshiwara's buildings with a comfortable quietude that melded her own shadows into the night. The faint wisp of smoke trailing from her pipe faded to nothing in the soft breeze, letting the gentle currents recant their whistling voices with the perfumes of red lights and Yoshiwaran penchants.

"Question number eleven," she said to the sprawling city before her. "Did you have any friends?"

Zenshi scoffed. "How rude," he quibbled lightly.

"Ya make me rephrase every single question," she complained, letting smoke dribble upwards from her lips.

"It's an exercise," he reasoned. "For your sake."

"For my sake?" It was Tsukuyo's turn to scoff, but she did so with a miniscule smile. "How _rude_."

"I can't take my turn unless you rephrase your question." They'd been playing the game slowly, a question for both of them every night, or two every now and then. Tsukuyo had the habit of stringing together almost insulting questions, intruding inquisitions that would have made any other opponent uncomfortable.

Zenshi, however, battled her verve with amusement.

"Did you," Tsukuyo pronounced carefully, "have any partic'larly close friends while in the Harusame?"

He was fond of the way she said _particularly_, lacing her sentences with her classic accent despite the attention she paid to her words.

"One," he said. "I'd venture to say two, maybe three at most."

"Who?"

"You wouldn't know them. And that's another question."

"That doesn't count."

"That would be the twentieth one we haven't counted."

She turned then, and since her back was to the lights and the rooftop they currently occupied was tucked in the dark backdrop of the city, he couldn't see her face. He did, however, see a glimmer of a smile.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Rokudo's fist connects with his jaw as soon as they walk into the auditorium. Zenshi finds himself sprawled in an ungainly fashion across the center arena, where a large, circular platform adorned with several microphones and wide broadcast screens has been erected. Comparable to a Roman coliseum on Earth, the rounded, amphitheatre-ring hybrid was open enough for all to see the young sixteen-year-old Yato rolling in the dirt.

"That was for earlier," Rokudo leered, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder.

"You're an idiot," Mei says.

"And why is that?"

But Mei doesn't know either. She has never seen her stoic classmate ever really react to anything with more than a withering glare.

"Get back in the aisles!" calls a supervisor, attempting to herd the few that have broken from line format and have followed Zenshi into the ring, mistakenly believing it to be a jovial activity.

Zenshi is standing; he rubs his chin without so much as a grimace, but instead an exasperated sigh escapes his lips. He stands with his usual rectitude and stringent stoniness.

"You there, the Yato," calls an instructor. "Please return to yo—"

Zenshi brushes briskly past the teacher and then—

And then trips?

Mei yelps when he falls past her, landing face down in the aisle of slowly moving Amanto students inching along the way to their seats.

The instructor, startled, immediately demands to know what happened. Very quickly, the government teacher descends from the bleachers and comes alongside to investigate, trading confused snips of conversation with the general instructor in a foreign language.

As if on cue, Mei feigns a horrified sob and points at Rokudo, who begins to register subtle surprise and shock.

"Did you punch him into the arena? I saw him fly down here," says the teacher, shaking his head. "Come here, young man." A frown. "Rokudo, you didn't just hit your classmate, did you?"

He pulls Rokudo forth.

The Yato, almost by instinct, swings his arm and clocks the teacher hard in the chin with his elbow. Their regular teacher, a kindly middle-aged Amanto with humanlike appearances and a tendency to wear colorful ties, hits the floor, and the entire student section ripples into silence with a collective gasp.

"That was," Zenshi says with deliberate languidness, "probably my favorite teacher."

He lurches to his feet and his fist finds Rokudo's face before the bullet finds his shoulder.

* * *

><p>you have experienced teenage!Zenshi.<p>

also: Rokudo is a dick.

plus: I'm trying to write more ZenTsu GAH IT'S HARD MAN

I have so much I want to develop

but it's the type of fanfic that people are like "this is so unrealistic wtf" and then you all disappear like poooof.

less than three = heart :)

**EDIT: I changed the Ocentisa crest because I doodled a cool phoenix...**


	24. - Twenty-Four -

FUN FACTS:

**Ch. 23: **Rokudo's name was very randomly inspired by Rokudo Mukuro from Katekyo Hitman Reborn. But this Rokudo is a douche. Mukuro from KHR is the epitome of awesome.

**Ch. 23: **Ocentisa was literally made up on the spot. I seriously just looked up cool galaxies (Omega Centauri is debated topic, regarding its status as galaxy or dwarf galaxy or something like that...yay space XD). And came up with a name. BUT HEY. OCENTISA actually sounds like a good abbreviation, no?

**Random: **I'm actually staring at an SAT vocab packet, deciding which words may be useful.

**Ch. 23: **The Shinra are the race of Kujaku Hime Kada, remember? And the Gorilla, at Ocentisa, literally have a class called "the Uho of Uho".

ANYWAY

**Disclaimer: mr. raindrop, falling away from me naooooo**

**that belongs to amplified**

**Gintama is Sorachi's. Uho.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 24 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

"Question eleven," he reciprocated. A pause. "Who taught you to be a kunoichi?"

She threw him a critical glare.

"That's a long story."

"Let's hear it."

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

With night came the blissful cool of darkness, and the welcomed blanket of twinkling stars cued the arrival of Yoshiwara's liveliness. Zenshi, as usual, remained in the guest residence of Hinowa's spacious residence, peering out the window that overlooked the streets running parallel to the city elevators.

Absently, Zenshi pulled out the envelope from Mutsu. He'd been pushing aside her almost mysterious words: _from the embassy_.

There was no return address, but he peeled the letter open and acutely acknowledged the Tendoshuu seal. It wasn't exactly from the puppet masters, but it was, in fact, a letter sent through one of the man Amanto embassies. Upon closer inspection, he found that it was not actually a Tendoshuu seal, but a Yato one. Pressed upon the dried wax was a rabbit poised mid-leap over a crescent moon. The paper itself smelled of many hands and many places; it had traveled a long way.

To his surprise, Zenshi discovered more than one letter inside the manila envelope. One with the Yato's home planet seal, and the other with the stamp of Earth's postal system. A foreigner and an earthling, perhaps.

He chanced the Yato one first.

It was from his mother.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

So she told him, but her story came with more than an ounce of effort and a somewhat blurred line between willingness to share and a loss for words. He accepted her less than complete explanation without hesitation. He was never one to make people uncomfortable unless he fully intended to.

"Question twelve," she continued efficiently, fingering the scars along her face. Zenshi stood, then, from where he'd been seated behind her. "Who?"

"I had one friend of many years, and a new one or two. The first is a horribly sour person, I'm sure you'd find." He smiled deprecatingly to no one. "You would be constantly at odds with her." _You already _are_ at odds with her_.

"And the others?"

"Just a kid with a knack for talking, and a man who is probably everyone's tired uncle."

"Sounds like a family to me," she said softly.

"Possibly," he agreed.

He looked forlorn then, and did not stir when she touched his arm gently.

"I think," she decided on her own, "it's your turn to tell a long story."

The faint glow at the end of her _kiseru_ faded, and only when a thin stream of tobacco smoke quivered past his face did he offer an obdurate shake of his head.

"Then," she prompted, "at least tell me about them. Just a little."

So he did.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He feels the pain before the sound of the shot registers in his ears. Whipping around, Zenshi discovers that a large number of the other Yato — there are a few older than him, two his age, and a younger set of twins — have raised their umbrellas. He cannot remember there being so many Yato; perhaps he had miscounted before.

The one who shot him looks horrified, but the parasol does not lower. Zenshi briefly regards his left shoulder, now soaked in blood, and then lunges for the shooter. The girl is tall and muscular, a fine counterpart to her idol Rokudo, but time away from home has softened her instincts, and Zenshi snags the umbrella from her hands.

She's on the verge of a scream, but he stops midstride and says,

"Weapons should be treated with care, young miss."

His voice is so oddly charismatic and his tone so obliquely concerned that she is momentarily stunned. Behind Zenshi, Rokudo wrenches himself to his feet and grabs his foe by the collar.

"Gentleman!" exclaims the instructor, who has been jostled between excited students, the injured homeroom teacher, and the quarreling Yato. Rokudo pays no heed to the man and slams his umbrella into Zenshi's injured shoulder, sending the other boy flying across the amphitheatre. To Rokudo's dismay, the dark-haired student simply picks himself up and saunters casually back to the group.

Zenshi strides up to Rokudo and stares him in the face.

"Do you _want_ to get beaten up again?" seethes the fierce ringleader of the clique, whose close-cropped hair makes his defined features severe and menacing.

"I don't recall a first time," Zenshi deadpans presumptuously. Rokudo strikes like lightning, but Zenshi has already intercepted the blow, his own hand pulling Rokudo past him. Zenshi drives the elbow of his free arm down into the boy's forearm, unflinchingly going for the hard crack of bone. The other Yato screeches in pain, rage contorting his face into something terrifying.

"You—" Rokudo cannot manage another word, but his good hand goes for Zenshi's throat. By now, several teachers and guards have entered the scene and are trying to separate the boys, but Rokudo's grip on the impassive Zenshi's neck is powerful.

Without ever once panicking, despite the sweat beading down his face as the inability to breathe, Zenshi unhooks his umbrella from his belt and presses the firearm tip to his assailant's chest.

_Weapons_, he mouths, forcing out a nearly inaudible whisper, _should be treated with care._

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

_My dearest son,_

_ I have heard of many things, and the most recent is of your presence on Earth. To be honest, I had begun to worry, but a sudden influx of updates to our lonely household has become the center of my life. Our little shop doesn't get many customers, but we fare well, and your aunt is the town's finest medic. I wait constantly for updates about you. Some come from the Harusame — and you fellows have the most menacing postcards, I must say — and some come from your father. He is actually very adamant that he knows your state of being. The last I heard, Hosen had passed and that was it._

_ The Harusame passed nearby recently, but the rumor is that you're no longer on their ship. I cannot guess why — well, as your mother, I probably could — but I wish you well. If anything, cease my worries and just _visit_ already._

_ Your aging mother would like to see her son before all of her hair turns gray._

_With love,_

_Ma._

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

When the two are hauled apart, Zenshi sputters a few times, rubbing his neck deliberately for show. A team of three teachers restrains a ferocious Rokudo, whose boiling blood sends shivers through the Yato company.

"Holy crap," whispers Mei, when the attending instructors deem Zenshi a victim rather than an instigator — thanks, in part, to Mei's acting and Zenshi's aptitude for smooth negotiations. "You just _broke_ his arm in one strike. _One_."

"It is a relief to see my fellow Yato aren't blind," he murmurs back with exemplary sarcasm.

"I will _hit_ you."

He responds with the most exasperated expression one can make without actually moving a single muscle, and she grimaces.

"I don't know if I like you."

Almost inexplicably, he turns and tells her, "Good."

A booming voice broadcasts from the center of the grand city hall, and they look up to see their superintendent adjusting an odd purple microphone, his face blown up to ridiculous proportions on the magnificent screens.

"Welcome," he announces with great warmth and intensity, "to the 24th annual all school assembly!"

As he rattles on in his resounding voice about the academy, and a majority of the students find themselves staring into space, empty of thought. When the school anthem begins to play, half the auditorium is giggling because the Inuisei are simply howling the chorus, the Gorilla race students don't say anything except "Uho!", and the Yato have commenced their typical staring contest with the Shinra students.

"Today, we commemorate the…"

"I will hit _him_," declares Mei under her breath. She has such long, tangerine orange hair that is falls past her hips and is all over the place; currently, she is braiding it into an elaborate design, half its length draped over Zenshi's left leg.

"I'm sure that'd turn out well."

She snarls at the head in front of her and elbows him with her right arm. When he doesn't react, she bumps shoulders. Zenshi grimaces, and she realizes that she now has blood on her sleeve.

"Wait, are you serious?" she suddenly exclaims. "They didn't notice—"

"Quiet," snaps one of the supervisors.

Zenshi places a finger to his lips.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

_To whom it may concern:_

_ I have reason to believe that a friend of mine is in danger. There is a specific person I wish to seek, and I am aware that he currently resides on Earth. I would prefer if he keeps quiet and simply meets me at a rendezvous point in Edo. The process will most likely take a few months, seeing as my own situation is one of urgency and incognito travel._

_ Soldier three seven three, do not forget this:_

_ I have known people with clouded eyes and people with clear eyes. There are certain people in this world that you learn to trust, by their eyes. You will also learn how to find them. You'll be able to see everything you knew, and everything you didn't. I'm sure you've heard these words more than once before._

_ But are you really soldier three seven three?_

_ Or are you the boy who played kick the can with my son until the child grew up into the admiral of the largest space crime syndicate in the galaxy?_

_ Or, do tell, are you the man with trustworthy eyes that I have sought for some time now?_

_ Your presence is requested._

_Signed:_

Umibouzu.

* * *

><p>WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ONE OADGKHASLDKFJ PLOT TWIST?!<p>

not really

more like

WHAT THE HEKC SI GOING ONALSDHGLKASDJFLKj


	25. - Twenty-Five -

Uwah. This was difficult to write.

**Disclaimer: Uho! (translation: Gorilla property)**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 25 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

_To whom it may concern._

_ Soldier three seven three._

Zenshi stared at the ambiguous heading, and then at the specifics within. He was, in fact, registered as soldier 373 until he became lieutenant.

It was not the fact that the legendary Umibouzu has contacted him.

It was not even the enigmatic message of the letter itself — solving could come later.

But what bothered Zenshi most was what he had learned about Kamui.

The power hungry lion cub had just eaten the head of its pride leader.

_Admiral_ Kamui.

Suddenly, the idea of living out his days in peace — an inconceivable notion from the start — became all the more unfathomable.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He stands stiffly before Hosen as if there is a rod driven into his spine.

"No, child," Hosen tells him, "you mustn't allow your back to freeze. And your stance is weak. A bumblebee could knock you over."

Hosen's hand clamps down on Zenshi's shoulder hard, and the little boy staggers beneath the weight. He readjusts the child's stance, gripping Zenshi's thin wrist until he adopts a stronger carriage.

"See this?" Hosen taps the small fist. "This is strength."

He steps back.

"Now show me how you fight."

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

He went the next morning to the elevators at the break of dawn, his umbrella toted over his shoulder and the envelope tucked into his arm. As he ascended to the surface, his destination the post office, Umibouzu's puzzling letter nagged him.

Very briefly, he wondered if the man was just in town to visit his daughter — and discarded the thought quickly.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Zenshi took to household chores as easily as he did to negotiations. He found that the quiet serenity of folding and organizing did him much good. Hinowa often laughed lightly and conversed with him, even when he didn't answer. Quite frequently, she would sit there darning whatever sock someone had torn, scrubbing scrupulously at a stubborn stain on Tsukuyo's kimono, or simply flipping through a catalogue for the best coupons of the month. During those times, Zenshi would either iron or fold or simply sit with a cup of tea. Occasionally, when Tsukuyo was free, she was their third companion, resting wordlessly with her pipe at her lips.

"It's supposed to rain soon," Hinowa commented, glancing outside. Though the sky was currently clear, the air was heavy with an oncoming storm. "I'm afraid my little garden will be washed out."

Tsukuyo and Zenshi looked outside simultaneously.

Far away, the lip of a dark cumulonimbus cloud wandered.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

"You would like to know who sent this?" said the man managing the front desk. "I don't think I can trace something like this. You'll have to go to the embassy."

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He's a bit pale, but has a massive pain tolerance and spends the rest of the day with a bullet in his shoulder until a teacher guffaws in horror and pulls him aside.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

The southwestern general embassy was crowded and slow, somewhat akin to the department of motor vehicles, where at least a hundred people and Amanto were bustling about in a disorganized line in an attempt to resolve their car-related problems.

Nonetheless he sat in the waiting room, a number card in hand, knowing full well that though there was no Yato ambassador, there would be someone useful. Personally, Zenshi never ventured far on Earth, but his established connections would suffice.

The card led him to a general desk, where a representative of the Inuisei's main envoy center had taken up post. Most of the foreign delegations were required to send at least one representative to each general embassy. While the Inuisei had their own grand building of communications, the southwestern center had one of their minor diplomats toiling away dully at the desk.

"Welcome to the embassy, how can I—" the Inuisei Amanto froze. "Well, fancy meeting you here."

Zenshi narrowed his eyes, staring hard at the dog-woman. Though her muzzle was a bit rounder and her slim limbs a bit less angular, the ochre shade of her coat and her rolling voice were familiar. It was Mei's friend from Ocentisa.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He is registered as seaman 373 of the 59th crew. Just like all the other new recruits, he files into line for a brief orientation, finding himself ironically amused at the organization of a space pirate organization. After all, the Harusame do not just let people with eye patches and hooks for arms join its ranks.

Kamui, however, seems to be in prior engagements with the higher-ups. He skips orientation and is whisked away to who-knows-where.

The boy next to Zenshi is a nervous, jittery creature. At times, he is snappy when the one next to him begins to reciprocate his own anxiety. About Zenshi's age, maybe a year or so younger, he is a wiry Yato made up of all arms and legs. A gangly thing of good height but unfilled build. He swings a dark green umbrella and his eyes wander almost meticulously across the field.

Zenshi realizes, with a slight start, that the boy is calculating the potential personalities, strengths, and weaknesses of the new recruits. They are all young Yato from a diversity of places — one is even a young boy that transferred from the Chidori pirates to the Harusame — and there is a total of twenty-three of them. It makes Zenshi wonder how their small planet and their small race is actually quite expansive; it is only a "rare" kind when compared to the populations of faraway planets. It also, strangely enough, brings up the concern that a large number of their offspring are living the lives of lowly pirates.

A camouflaged focus. He knows he's being watched. The shifty boy beside him has moved from the muscular, brutish initiate to Zenshi's right to Zenshi himself. Though most of them stand stiffly, they are chatty and have begun converse amongst small clusters of two or three. Taking advantage of the small dialogues, he turns casually to the boy.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he says. The boy frowns, slightly alarmed by the fact that his discreet cover has been blown. "Would you say quiet? Or loud?" Zenshi nods to a girl in the far corner who is muscular and square.

The boy is jittery. "Mean."

Zenshi mouths a soft _oya?_, but doesn't say anymore.

About a minute later, the boy ventures forth.

"You're pretty quiet. The cool type, aren't you?"

Zenshi wants to laugh, because the boy's forceful intonation on "cool" makes it seem like he is attempting to throw an insult. His voice, however, is weedy and thin.

"Am I?" Zenshi's eyes slide his way.

"It sure seems like it."

Zenshi would like to attribute this to his new hair, cropped short from its shoulder length, but supposes that his laconic, satirical attitude probably contributes as well. He certainly looks the part.

"Zenshi," he offers boldly. Typically, he'll refrain from introductions, but the boy is a wary, fox-like character with an innocent flop of light brown over his face. Just as he reads others, Zenshi reads him.

"Zhuyi." They shake hands.

It is only four months after initiation, when Zhuyi finds himself a suitable job in the bridge, that he becomes Tabs.

And he is ever attentive to all.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The assembly takes the entire day, and ends with the same mawkish speeches by the same school officials. In an attempt to mitigate the pain in his shoulder, Zenshi allows his attention to wander, mostly riding the muddled voice of the principal at the microphone.

When the event ends, and a teacher pulls him aside, Mei and her Inuisei friend scoff.

"Do I even have to ask?" says the dog-girl.

"You probably saw it on the big screen," replies Mei dryly.

"I did."

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

The canine grin that split her corgi face was far from comforting. In fact, Zenshi found himself less amused and more in a state of lassitude instead.

"You're as talkative as I remember," sighed the canine girl. She rummaged through a few documents, tapped a silver, efficient computer, and motioned for him to look at it. "We actually expected you to come. There's a few things for you in the back."

She ducked behind a "authorized personnel only" door and reemerged quickly, nonchalant and cheery but well aware of his low tolerance for sluggishness. The Inuisei girl, named Kougi, had been a classmate and a lunch companion. One of the only other students to have bonded with Mei, she regularly accompanied the feisty Yato girl to their usual lunch table, where Zenshi sat in lugubrious silence. Lunch often consisted of their chatter and light teasing. Zenshi, throughout their years, was glad he didn't grow tired of them. Rather fond of his talkative lunch companions — besides the one silent Yato that followed him like a puppy and the other quiet Amanto that found solace in his silence — he had lugged through his rather antisocial school days in moderate peace.

"Before you say anything," Kougi said, "we are not a mail system. We just hold things that Edo's mail people can't handle. All the official Amanto documents in high security pass through us, rather than them."

"How profound," he offered sardonically.

"You're as annoying as I remember, too. And you hardly even talk." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, you've got a few things here. I heard one's from _that_ Umibouzu. We call him Bald Bloody Santa around here."

He threw her a skeptical glance.

"Because he tries to visit his daughter with gifts but he's bald and usually has blood all over him, which is kind of gross."

Zenshi made a face that spelled out wry acknowledgement, but was mostly busy flipping through the letters.

One, yes, from Umibouzu. A location, if he wasn't mistaken.

Another from the Sciuttlan Department of Security. This in particular set his wheels turning furiously.

Certainly, it was a day full of letters. One after the other, messages came his way as if suddenly free of a stymied dam. He peeled past the first two to evaluate the last.

Stamped in bold, angry ink to disguise the Chinese character for _beautiful _printed in a neat, recognizable scrawl, was a message from the Harusame.

* * *

><p>I hope this isn't too complexweird.

To be clear, Umibouzu will serve as a messenger of sorts.

That, and even I don't know what the heck he's doing in town.

Oh Baldy.


	26. - Twenty-Six -

A sort of interlude chapter thing.

FUN FACTS

**Ch. 25: **The numbers 373 are a reference to something. Hehe.

**Ch. 25: **I can say this one, though. The number 59 is a reference to Gokudera Hayato from KHR.

**Ch. 25: **Kougi = Corgi.

**Ch. 25: **Zhuyi means "pay attention" in Chinese.

**DISCLAIMER: Magical Banana, Bananas are awesome, ehhhh shogunnn?! Nooo it belongs to Sorachi!**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 26 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Tsukuyo stared skeptically at the produce stands.

"I didn't know we had these," she remarked, scanning the Amanto supermarket district in half awe and half bewilderment. "Are these pop'lar?"

"Very," Zenshi assured her, motioning to all the humans that frequented the market. "Space cuisine has grown into a successful Earth industry."

"I see." She no longer turned sharply when he touched her elbow lightly, but was still surprised when the soft press of his fingers on her forearm guided her forward. Understanding that he was a man of little unnecessary contact — the friendly and familiar kind — she often appreciated the fact that he was comfortable enough to approach her.

After passing several stalls full of strangely shaped cabbages and melons, Tsukuyo ventured to ask about the convenience stores.

"Do they sell Earth food in other places?"

"Of course. Out there, Earth food is space merchandise like all the rest."

"Is there an equiv'lent to, say, red bean pancakes?" Tsukuyo bent curiously over a bizarre fruit colored green and purple in geometric, crystal shapes.

"Those are good for smoothies," Zenshi commented, before answering her question. "And I'd say yes, there are, but many pancakes are salty rather than sweet."

Tsukuyo waved him over, as if to say she wanted to try the fruit. They bought a few.

Though put off by the fact that she was digressing from her Hyakka duties, Tsukuyo discovered a sort of content bliss in simply walking above ground, through the subtle clamors of the shopping centers in Edo. When the sun grew fervent at noon, she tentatively edged beneath the shade of Zenshi's umbrella, all the while clicking almost flippantly with her heeled boots and smoking her pipe with focused nonchalance.

"Yer quite knowledgeable about food," she noted flatly.

"I was acquainted with big eaters," he told her. Tsukuyo split into a sudden but brief smile, an image of Kagura flashing to mind.

"Ya don't seem to fit the mold, then." She glanced up; he was rolling the umbrella handle in his fingers whilst keeping it hoisted on his shoulder lightly.

"I'm not always hungry," he offered. Tsukuyo was tempted to smile again because it appeared he couldn't summon a witty response to the food joke.

"It's a wonder yer so tall. Is it genes, or did ya drink a ton of milk?"

"I," Zenshi began, moving towards a small Amanto grocery store, "just ate a lot of space-jellyfish tongue."

She shot him an incredulous look, sparing nothing for his seamless transition.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," he offered with a wry chuckle. His laugh was low and cool, almost throaty, and it pleasantly surprised her. "I'm serious, Tsukuyo."

She had to focus on the space-jellyfish with considerable effort, because otherwise she would become wrapped in the fact that it was one of the few times he'd ever said her name. She could never discern when or why he would choose to do so, and it often frustrated her that he never replied much. Their docile freeloader was hardly a freeloader, but a builder and a laundryman and a mystery to all. But Tsukuyo was a patient woman, and instead of becoming focused on her irritation, tried to solve the puzzle instead. But still, there was a quirk to everything, to everyone.

"I'll take yer word for it."

"No, you'll believe me." The almost mischievous twinkle in his eyes told Tsukuyo that they would be having space-jellyfish's tongue for dinner that night.

* * *

><p><strong>.: THREE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"_Lieutenant Zenshi to the bridge, Lieutenant Zenshi to the—_"

The announcement breaks off mid-sentence and Tabs nearly chokes on his own tongue when Zenshi claps a hard hand on his fellow crewman's shoulder.

"You won't be Tabs anymore if you don't keep track of our dear Lieutenant," Mei rolls off her tongue sarcastically. She turns to Abuto, who hums an old tune to himself, and asks brazenly, "So, Uncle! What's the deal-io?"

"I'm not your uncle, sweetheart," sighs the vice-captain. "And the deal-io's with the meal-io, so pay up."

"I got a granola bar."

"Not what I meant." Abuto waves her off, half a snicker on his face. "Anyway, we are meeting up with some business corporations, and you know the drill with these bums. Always looking for the shady way out."

"Who are we dealing with today, Cap'n?" Mei slips into a swivel chair next to Kamui, who is poking at a computer. He puts a finger to his lips because he's actually just playing Tetris.

"A few companies and their representatives…and their lawyers." Abuto shrugs. "Lawyers," he repeats, to make a point, somewhat grimacing. "Bud, it's up to you now."

Almost dramatically, Abuto and Mei simultaneously nod in grave fashion. Kamui sniggers, and the current announcement — "_Maintenance to the galleys, maintenance to the galleys…_" — breaks in the middle with half a giggle.

"We've got a few Yato lawyers," Kamui notes. He breaks into a wide grin, his rather effusive cheer infecting the entire room. "Have fun."

Zenshi offers a disparaging glare.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

_Mei, _he knew, signed her name with one character. She wrote in neat, blockish letters, always tidy despite her outward demeanor. Her script is, interestingly, at odds with her very being.

* * *

><p><strong>.: THREE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Their ship docks in a little harbor on a little planet where many corporations find clandestine operations the easiest to conduct. The company bosses are often vain little men who request to speak to higher-ups, even when they already are.

"We're here to speak to your head of negotiations, the lieutenant," a dour but drab little red Amanto man says.

"He's coming," Mei tells him docilely, quelling her usual snarky remarks.

About ten company executives, plus a few aides and a few lawyers, file inside a grand meeting room within the city of surreptitious deals.

One corporation, a big brand name that distributes communications technology to just about everybody, has a nasally, horned Amanto man with an ivory pig's snout and a Yato for a lawyer (and bodyguard). As soon as he walks in, he is greeted with overenthusiastic decorum and officious ingratiation from the other managers. A suave, well-dressed Yato slips in behind him, his head of dark brown hair swept back stylishly. His facial expression is derisive, disingenuous; his gaze sharp.

His eyes alight upon Mei, who is supervising the room, and his cool façade falters as he recovers deftly from a startled splutter. Mei's eyes go wide, but she has been in control of her mouth for the past ten minutes, and is on her way to making a new record.

"We are here to see the lieutenant," says the brunet Yato with unease.

"He's on his way."

A few Harusame crewmen line the room and the doors, though a majority are just studying the room and chatting amongst themselves.

When Zenshi walks in, all snap to attention and issue curt salutes.

"At ease," Zenshi says, waving them off. In diplomatic situations, the crewmen assume utmost formality — and Zenshi, in all honesty, cannot say it doesn't give him an aura of importance.

"Lieutenant," calls Tabs, poking his head into the room.

"I never authorized you to leave the ship," Zenshi replies briefly. "What is it?"

"The last conference participant has notified us of a delay. He will be here shortly."

Zenshi nods, making a noise of approval, before sweeping around the table to situate himself at the head. When he sees that Tabs is still standing there, he waves.

"Dismissed, Tabs."

"Yessirofcourse," mumbles Tabs, ducking away. He has seen Mei's incredulous expression, which she was trying to redirect. Unbeknownst to most of them, her struggle to dissolve the several jests that play on her lips. Zenshi motions to her, and she slides next to him wordlessly.

"If you have something to say, spit it out," he orders. His gaze is far from amused, and he explicitly implies for her to actually speak her thoughts.

"_Oh_, what a night," she sings lightly, laughing. Backing away, she waits for him to respond, and the incongruous mash of half a smile and a glare is priceless.

"All right," he calls, almost imperiously. "I don't do introductions for these things, because I find them unnecessary. If you have a question, feel free to ask. This is, after all, for your sake and not ours."

"I'm sorry, but are all of you so brazenly discourteous to your guests?" snaps the Yato, very quickly before one of the other managers can raise his hand. "We are in attendance solely for the purpose of establishing proper links, and as one of the biggest corporations in the galaxies, you may want to consider that this is for _your_ sake and not ours."

"On second thought, why don't we do an introduction?" Zenshi suggests, eyes glinting dangerously. "We are the 7th Division of the Harusame Space Pirates, the greatest coalition of privateers and unlikely businessmen in the universe. As the 7th Division consists solely of Yato tribe members, we are also the Harusame's most potent force."

Zenshi discreetly motions for Mei to come forth behind his back.

"And, as obviously stated, the most fearsome pirate syndicate in the galaxy. If you'd like a demonstration of our prowess, I'm sure Petty Officer Mei will be glad to show you." He beckons her to the table.

Mei breaks into an unruly grin, hops recklessly onto the table and slams her parasol down so hard in front of the Yato lawyer that the table cracks.

"_Ocentisa, Ocentisa, for my honor and my faith,_" she sings brazenly, her voice lightly riding the notes of their old school anthem.

"Brutes!" cries the little horned pig-man, tugging on his lawyer's sleeve. The Yato, however, doesn't budge, despite his client's urgency.

"_To spread my wisdom from star to shining star…_"

"Brutes? We obviously have an Omega Centauri Intergalactic Space Academy alumni right here." Zenshi casts a derisive smirk.

Mei has reached the last stanza. "_Ocentisa, Ocentisa, blazing future in the suns! From desert to sea, from skies to earths, raise your white and black, your gold and blue!_" She leans down, crouching on the table now. "I pledge my academic years and wholehearted devotion to the Omega Centauri Intergalactic Space Academy, and the union for which it stands." A pause.

The Yato stands then, straightening his shoulders.

" _Ut omnibus iniquitatibus_, to do away all inequity." He narrows his eyes as he finishes her pledge. "How ironic."

"Wh-what are you doing?" demands pig-man. He's nervous, the other company bosses are nervous, and here are two Yato facing off in the midst of a supposedly formal business meeting.

"_Oh, _what a night," repeats Mei.

"Late December, back in _dorm fifty-three_," finishes Zenshi, coming up behind the Yato and seizing his umbrella with precise grace.

"_I—_"

"Welcome to the Harusame," chirps Mei. "Hope you enjoy your stay—

—Rokudo."

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He awakens to the murderous intent beside him, intricately complex and enraged. Zenshi bolts to his feet, clasping his umbrella in hand and swinging it as hard as he can. It collides with another parasol, a gray one with an embellished handle, somewhat like his own.

"_Oh_, what a night," hisses Rokudo. "To die, that is."

"Kill one man," replies Zenshi, "and you are a murderer."

"Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror." Rokudo pulls back and strikes with a closed fist.

"Kill them all…" Zenshi ducks away, parrying a few more before sweeping around with a kick in an attempt to knock Rokudo off his feet. He is relatively successful.

"_And you are a god_," finishes Rokudo, his expression a mosaic of ten different emotions, ten different places.

_He must be crazy, he must_.

"_Jean Rostand, Earthling_," whispers the brown-haired Yato, crawling to his feet and presenting the angles of his severe face in a delusional grin.

Zenshi glances across the room, where his two roommates — one Yato and one leopard Amanto — have curled up in shock. Even the one of his own race fails to aid Zenshi, as his fear for Rokudo's instability outweighs any other comprehensive capabilities.

Because Zenshi has dithered too long, Rokudo grabs him by the collar of his sleep shirt and throws him cruelly against the door. It swings open, and Zenshi falls back.

_He must be crazy, he must_.

His muscles leap on their own; they react to a manifestation of primal instinct, the survival mode when under duress. The response to assault is pernicious to his sense of restraint — he leaps at Rokudo with unbridled vigor.

When he looks up, he realizes he's staring at his dorm room number, a lonesome five and its spouse, the three, doused in the slick crimson of someone's blood.

* * *

><p>Beginning with a ZenTsu moment, ending with a see you AGAIN DESU! Rokudo moment.<p>

Uh.

Maybe one more...


	27. - Twenty-Seven -

Slightly longer today.

FUN FACTS!

**Ch. 26: **You didn't happen to recognize "America the Beautiful" parodied, did you? *sings _Ocentisa _into the distance*

**Ch. 26: **Yes, Mei was singing a parody of "December, 1963 (Oh, What a Night)" by the Four Seasons.

**Ch. 26: **Jean Rostrand's quote was inspired by an SnK tumblr post. It comes from _Thoughts of a Biologist, _1938.

**DISCLAIMER****: ****_Jugem-Jugem Poop Throwing Machine Shin-chan's Day Before Yesterday Underwear Shinpachi's Life Balmunk Fezarion Isaac Schneider One Thirds Pure Feeling Two Thirds Worried-Over-A-Hangnail Feeling Though Betrayal Knows My Name Or Does It ?I Know The Unknown The Cuttlefish Tastes Kind Of Different Than It Did Last Time Because It Was Caught Near The Pond And Served With Oil From A Hoofed Mammal, Pepepepepepepepepepepe Take Care From Here On In Please And Finally The End Bichigu Somaru_**

**belongs to the one and only Sorachi Hideaki.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 27 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

"This…is a dessert?" The befuddled half smile on Tsukuyo's face was at once amusing and tentative, as if someone had just suggested something risqué. She chewed. "I had expected a dinner appetizer or somethin'."

Zenshi tilted his head to the side, and she watched the degree to which he yawned his head back and smiled briefly. He asked her, without ever saying a word, what she thought.

"It's actually real good," she admitted, admiring the strange juicy yet jellylike texture of the dish. "It's just like the type of fruit jelly ya see on shaved ice. Except more mild, to make a whole dessert."

He propped up his chin on his hands, an enervated little smirk playing across his face.

"I think Seita would like this." Sometimes, Tsukuyo grew wary of doing all the talking. She changed the subject and continued, nonetheless. "So you made this?"

"Space jelly doesn't turn into fruit jelly by itself," he reasoned blandly.

"Hmm." Now she was simply uncomfortable because he was watching her eat. Rather ungracefully, she shoved the plate toward him and procured a second set of utensils. Before he could open his mouth, she snapped at him. "Don't argue, just eat it."

And for once, he abided in his nonchalant silence, never objecting.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Rokudo has an eccentric, unstable personality, but he learns to stay away from Zenshi. It is Mei and her Inuisei friend, Kougi, who find the two of them sprawled in the main hall of the western dorms, covered in blood. The roommates in fifty-three had long since fled in panicked escape, running frightened arcs until they hit the northern dorms, where they were discovered huddling in lounge sofas.

Zenshi leans against the wall, sitting with one leg extended and one leg folded beneath him. It's not comfortable, but he can't move the leg, so there's no helping it. Rokudo had brutally chanced a shot at his gut, going for a thick slice, but instead he struck Zenshi's middle thigh so hard that something cracked, and now the dark-haired Yato is adamantly against moving it.

Rokudo, on the other hand, has a broken nose, a broken cheekbone, a broken collarbone and a big gash up his left forearm, and a viciously sprained ankle. He lies face down on the repetitively patterned dorm carpet, which lines the hallways in redundant squares of blue and black.

The girls attempt to roll Rokudo over into a supine state, but he protests loudly with half-conscious groans. Though Mei doesn't reserve a warm spot in her heart for the boy, she's not unkind.

"Don't move me," the Yato boy moans in a gargle. "Don't."

"I can't tell whose blood it is," Kougi whimpers, patting Rokudo's face gently with a kerchief when they roll him over. The Yato's voice breaks in a strangled cry when the canine girl wipes his broken nose clean of blood. "I think it's Rokudo's. Zenshi doesn't seem to be bleeding."

"No, he is." Mei speaks in a whisper, and gestures towards the boy propped against the wall, overwhelmed and spent. Her eyes drop to Zenshi's left hand, which is cradled motionlessly in his lap. When Kougi looks closer, she gasps in a half bark and half whine. There is a pocketknife embedded in Zenshi's hand, bleeding rather profusely, and yet the boy just sits there as if it had been a part of him since birth. That, too, remains stubbornly immobile, and he continues to lull around uncomfortably in that position.

"You've called the supervisors, right?"

"I have," Mei assured her friend. However, more focused on the two injured subjects, points out the gash on Rokudo's left arm, presumably from the same knife. She deduces that since both are right-handed, they would naturally use that hand to attack the straight side of their opponent — hence Rokudo's left arm injury and the knife stuck in Zenshi's left hand.

The medics come in urgent fashion, organized but appalled. Zenshi is so out of it he nearly snarls at the nurse that tries to help him up, throwing his hand out so savagely that the knife is wrenched from his flesh and thickly stabs in the direct center of a random portrait lining the hall. Mei is reminded of a wounded wild animal, defensive and wary, its ears laid flat back on his head and lips curled up in a growl.

Even so, he relents eventually, his face going perfectly blank when they help him onto a stretcher. Rokudo just moans the entire time, and even when they are carted off, Mei and Kougi continue to stare.

"I always thought he was the quiet one," Kougi whispers.

"Me too," replies Mei.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

"So, how's Mei doing? I heard you two are coworkers," chirped Kougi, one of her ears flickering forward.

"Coworkers," echoed Zenshi, glancing up from the letters. "I guess you could say so."

"How's it going?" She didn't intrude, only inquired.

"I have, to say the least, branched out on my own." _To put it in pleasant terms_. "Last I heard, she was doing well, promoted, actually."

He thought this to himself wryly, recalling _their esteemed Lieutenant Mei_. How Mei must have enjoyed that title. She would, undoubtedly, use it to its full extent. He wasn't sure he wanted to open her letter though, not just yet.

"That sounds great!" chimed Kougi, always one for optimism. "Anyway, anything else you need?"

Zenshi flipped through his newly acquired documents before stuffing them in his sleeve. "No, that's it. Thanks."

"Anytime. Have a good one." She smiled her dog smile. Zenshi offered a curt nod in return, turning to weave past the masses of people inching forward in line. Once outside, he swung his umbrella overhead and found a quiet street corner to address the contents of Umibouzu's letter.

_Oedo Central Terminal._

Zenshi stepped out of the alley's shade to look down the clear street, where the concentric circles of communities converged their roads to one point: The gigantic space-earth transfer structure that loomed high above all the skyscrapers, ominous and profound.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

"What is _this_?" Seita snorted, poking at the space-jelly.

"Dessert," Tsukuyo replied. "Eat it."

"It's actually good," Hinowa prompted. "I tried."

"Well you guys have weird taste buds, I don't believe you." Seita folded his arms, staring dubiously at the gelatinous confection. "And why are you all staring at me?"

They were, in fact, seated at the dining table in stilted silence. Zenshi, for one, was perfectly content with the quietude, dipping a teabag into hot water and observing people as he typically did. Tsukuyo smoked her pipe, her perpetual glare softened until Seita questioned the perfection that was space-jellyfish's tongue.

"Maybe we shouldn't have told him it was space dessert," Hinowa whispered.

"He'll deal," Tsukuyo told the dark-haired courtesan simply. "Besides, we don't get dessert often."

"Would you like to try Omega Centauri filet mignon instead?" suggested Zenshi monotonously. "It's made of space cow's third quadrant tenderloin."

"Third…quadrant?"

"They have ten legs."

"They what?!"

* * *

><p><strong>.: JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

He knew that reading while walking was probably not the best idea, but curiosity eventually pulled Mei's letter from his sleeve and opened up a page of neat, blocked handwriting.

_I don't know where you are, but I hope you get this. You hate intros, so here: Abuto says to take a short leave from Yoshiwara. Something about Umibouzu. If you leave, the Harusame won't terrorize Yoshiwara. If you're not there, our attention will be diverted, and you can probably return sometime later. I, for one, didn't know you were there. A heads-up would've been nice. _

_ One thing: a letter from Sciuttla was bypassed in a security breach. I let it through as the new head of negotiations (which sucks, by the way) so I'm probably in deep trouble. So when you're done reading it (as well as this letter) burn everything. _

_ There's also a warrant out for your head throughout all Harusame divisions, so watch out for Daraku. He's an idiot though, so I guess you don't have to worry much. _

_ I hate your job, like, what the hell is this? I don't _talk_ to people and I don't _do_ the papers, I just give them to you._

_ Anyway. Tabs misses your silent company and wishes I'd shut up. Actually, the entire crew wishes I'd shut up. I pulled the seniority and rank card a couple times. It's actually really fun. _

_ But stay _away _from Yoshiwara. All we need is a month or two, and then…well I can't actually tell you, this is something classified. You'll see._

_ Mei._

As he finished, he bumped shoulders with a man walking the opposite direction. Zenshi felt a sharp spasm of his own murderous intent, and balked sideways, whipping around to find the trigger. Between the confusion of Mei's vague reference to "something classified" and an unidentified "we," the dangerous aura jumbled his senses and threw him off guard. It had come to abruptly that he could hardly react.

"Sorry," said the man who crossed paths with him. "My bad."

"No, not at all," replied Zenshi.

The man, whose wavy brown hair obscures much of his expression, smiled through thin lips and narrowed eyes. Then he turned and walked away, leaving Zenshi with the impression of a spider retreating into the corners of its web.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"You have a crack in your femur bone, a sprained knee, and your — your _hand_!" Mei grabs his arm and gestures incredulously to the bandaged bundle that was his palm. Zenshi sits with an irritating sort of calm, mostly bothered by his slovenly appearance in hospital gowns. Ocentisa has its own wing of the hospital, given the fact that the school hosts thousands of prone-to-accident Amanto children. Intergalactic League A sports often result in several concussions and broken bones, hence the entire team of students currently settled in the same room.

His hair is disheveled, and falls across his face in messy disorder. His usual braid, which falls loosely down his back, has completely come loose, and it simply drapes across his shoulders like sad curtains of black.

"I never realized you had such long hair," Mei notes arbitrarily.

Zenshi shoots her an accusing glare through his eyes only, and she shrugs. Mei herself has tangerine orange hair that falls past her waist. She can even sit on it. Typically, she puts it in an elaborate updo braid or simply lets it hang in a loose ponytail — so that, she claims, she can whip people with it.

"It's as if it magically appeared when out of its braid," she continues in mock wonder. "Do you ever think of cutting it?"

"Are you asking me or yourself?" he deadpans, leaning back into the pillows. He briefly wonders where Rokudo is, for he's obviously not housed in the same room. The other Yato apparently went on a homicidal rage, nearly killing a few nurses before someone stuck a thick syringe of tranquilizer into his arm.

_He must be crazy_, echoes repeatedly.

"Maybe both," Mei quips, sitting on the edge of his bed. "So Kougi and I were saying, we should throw you a recovery party. Like, not a 'congrats you're better!' party, but more like a 'newly hospitalized party!' just for giggles."

"Lovely," he murmurs, though he can't kick her because she's sitting nearly on his injured left leg.

Kougi trots into the room then, half of a bright smile paralyzed on her hound-like features.

"I just saw Rokudo," she barks lightly. "He's wrapped up like a mummy and is out like a light."

"Good for him," Mei and Zenshi reply in unison. The former throws the boy a narrow glare, but Zenshi simply lets his head fall into the pillows, wondering when and how the peppy conversation of these two girls will transfer its energy to himself.

It rarely happens, but he's grateful for the fact that they cheer him up on their own time.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

There was another point in the week where they made a pleasant little voyage to the space market. In fact, Zenshi was thoroughly pleased when Tsukuyo was the one to suggest it — on the claims of "tryin' the cuisines of diff'rent cultures, of course."

That day, unfortunately, turned out to be the forecasted day of rain that Hinowa had mentioned earlier. The clouds came like the advent of the weather god's rage, and the flash storm caught them by surprise. Tsukuyo, cursing their lack of planning, dove underneath the wide span of Zenshi's umbrella. Shopkeepers stowed their stands and outdoor ads with impressive efficiency, rolling away within seconds of the downpour.

The two eventually huddled within the small parlor overhang of a little dango shop, Zenshi finally able to retract his umbrella. While he remained relatively dry, under the constant guard of his sun-shielding parasol, Tsukuyo was drenched, having been wandering a ways away when the rain hit angrily. Her hair clung to her face and she shivered miserably, despite the obvious efforts to suppress her discomfort.

Wordlessly, Zenshi unwrapped his usual cloak from his shoulders and draped it over the tense blonde courtesan.

"I don't—"

"Want to catch a cold," he finished, repudiating her stubbornness.

So they sat there, waiting out the storm, tucked under a roof but excluded from the warmth inside the closed shop. Eventually, lulled by the constant patter of rain and thunder, the two of them sat in the dark, leaning against one another and waiting for the sun.

* * *

><p>AND INTO THE MYSTERY.<p>

Well, I got more ZenTsu moments, like I promised and planned. Please tell me what you think! Too fast, too slow, too...?!

AND SOMEONE MADE A CAMEO

oH MY JUGEM JUGEM

MY ICHIGO GUNYUU

It's...?!


	28. - Twenty-Eight -

This one is potentially VERY confusing, so if you have trouble, do ask!

It's meant to be a bit all over the place, purposefully baffling because I am a baffling writer, haha.

BUT SERIOUSLY.

DO ASK.

**Disclaimer: quotes belong to Sorachiiii!**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 28 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: THREE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Mei claps her hands.

"Questions?" she clips, skipping gaily back to Zenshi's side. "I think we're done here."

After the little commotion with Rokudo, the lawyer had simply quieted down with a scathing glare, which the reticent lieutenant and his strident aide simply ignored. The little pig-fellow who was Rokudo's client is an easily pleased man, and so the rest of the negotiations go relatively smoothly, save the late arrival of a harried businessman and his Yato bodyguard (who, interestingly, is acquainted with Tabs).

"I hate these things," Mei says for what may be the fortieth time after the meeting's end. They're on the ship again now, after leaving their business associates behind.

"You are a pleasant person," Zenshi entreats insipidly. He casts a cursory glance outside.

"I _hate_ these things," Mei sings now, with resplendent cheer. "How's that?"

Zenshi turns to the window, however, and jabs his finger at a few planets. There, at the tip of his forefinger, are two planets, relatively small and far away. Mei follows his gaze, guessing the little red blub to be Mars, and the much bigger one, farther out, to be Jupiter.

"What?"

He points more insistently. She goes red in the face, quickly.

"If you say _asteroid belt_, I will—"

"Asteroid belt," he beams, the happy little sparkle in his eye more than any smile he could have offered.

"I am going to _kill_ you," Mei shrieks.

And then they are sixteen and fifteen again, doing the stupidest things in school, without a care of the world. She is the classmate who doesn't care if he's the quiet one, the secluded one. He is that kid who will smile if you know how to make him smile.

Yato left and right flatten themselves against the wall, because as the their esteemed lieutenant sprints past them, they know full well that there is a demon on his heels.

After all, who says only Kamui has fun as a pirate?

* * *

><p><strong>.: End of JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

He should have left a note. He knew, by the fourteenth day of waiting for Umibouzu, that he should have left a note.

But he hadn't known.

And he won't know.

So he waited, every day in terminal, his blood boiling when the disguised Harusame swept past him in hoards of smuggling rings.

"Sir, can I help you?" asked a flight attendant, off duty and meandering the premises. "Do you need directions?"

"No, just waiting for someone, thank you."

He should have left a note. It nagged him now, increasingly so. Never once had he returned to Yoshiwara after burning his mail. He hadn't intended to stay out so long, but the eerie sensation of being watched kept him out of Yoshiwara.

_Take a short leave_, Mei said.

That leave had begun without him ever realizing it.

* * *

><p><strong>.: THREE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Would you like another knife through the hand?" asks Rokudo.

"I see your nose never really set correctly," Zenshi utters without a hint of hesitation. They stare off until Mei cuts in, and they finish the meeting the almost audible thunder of hostility between the two.

* * *

><p><strong>.: End of JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

_We call him Bald Bloody Santa around here. _

He disguised his lack of hair with his cape and cloak and hat. He did, in fact, have a pack slung across his shoulder, splattered with dried blood. He was almost decorative in the noble way he strode across the terminal.

Acute in his every deliberate action, Umibouzu caught Zenshi's gaze without ever breaking stride or turning his head.

Zenshi slipped to his feet and followed.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, FOUR WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

"An umbrella is a handy thing," she noted, taking it from his hand and studying it almost meticulously. "Especially when it has a gun on the end."

She hoisted it up until it was parallel to the ground, as if to shoot.

"It has a light recoil," he mentioned, before holding out his hand. "I also need it to not die."

"Yer _fine_," Tsukuyo snorted, poising the parasol open over her own head. "Ya lasted a good five or so minutes."

"In excruciating pain," he drawled.

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm sure."

* * *

><p><strong>.: End of JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Why did you—"

"No, boy. I talk first." Umibouzu took him by the arm, complaining under his breath about customs. "There is more than one King of the Night lurking about. You and I need to stay away from Yoshiwara for the time being."

Zenshi staggered in his step, purposefully slowing down the older Yato.

"You need to let _them_ handle it. We'll be back."

Kagura's father offered nothing more. Zenshi had no choice but to trail after him, in silent confusion.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Last day of JUNE, PRESENT :.<strong>

_I devoted myself to my webbed prey the way a servant devotes himself to his master. And then I feast when my prey has become beautiful and succulent._

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, FOUR WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

"Question seventeen: Where did ya get yer umbrella?" She had noticed the gold embedded in the bottom when she plucked it from his hands.

"My father. It was his." He let Tsukuyo study it, turning the handle in her fingers. They were perched upon that high, darkened rooftop again, overlooking the fiery red-light district. Yoshiwara seemed to be eternally in flames — the kind that inevitably light the human spirit.

And, occasionally, that of a cold, foreign soul.

"Question seventeen," Zenshi reciprocated. "Where did you get your scars?"

"I feel like I've answered this b'fore," she murmured hesitantly.

"We've mentioned it, but never asked." He paused. "If you don't answer, this'll make the eleventh out of seventeen that you've refused."

She grimaced.

"Fine." A stream of smoke left her lips, illuminated a dull orange by the city's lights. "I once made a vow. To my teacher. And this is what's left."

"What's left?" he echoed, almost surprised. "You mean to say there was more?"

"No," she replied, a tired smile pulling the corner of her mouth. "I like to think there's more now."

* * *

><p><strong>.: First day of JULY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"You know the Yorozuya man, yes?" Umibouzu stared at Zenshi so hard that the unflinching demeanor of the latter came with a price.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you trust him?"

Zenshi bit his own tongue, completely thrown off by the question.

"I suppose. I've only met him twice or so."

"Trust him," ordered the older Yato.

"I would ask you why, but I'm inclined to think I shouldn't."

"That's very perceptive of you." Umibouzu had been leading him from embassy to embassy, exchanging letters for more and more documents. "But you should. Trust him, that is."

Umibouzu whipped around on him sharply.

"Or there will be nothing left of Yoshiwara, if you don't."

Zenshi suddenly gripped Umibouzu by the collar, completely disregarding the fact that he was attempting to threaten the strongest man in the universe.

"Explain."

Umibouzu evaluated the boy. Fearless, determined, strong. He smiled, slowly.

"I will. But first, you come with me."

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"The weak will never thrive," Hosen whispers in his ear. "When you shoulder useless burdens, do you become strong or weak?"

"Weak," the little boy manages in a small voice.

"Are you sure?"

_No._

* * *

><p><strong>.: JULY, PRESENT :.<strong>

They dove behind an old, decrepit building, letting the bullets of a sniper embed into the brick walls. Zenshi was lost, completely lost, but he followed Umibouzu like the lighthouse in the distance.

But he was running again, his inner clock counting down.

In a moment of quiet, he reached for the Sciuttlan letter, but remembered he'd read and burned it weeks ago.

As soon as he looked up, Umibouzu hollered.

"Get down!"

A Shinra warrior, pointed ears and sword in hand, swung down.

* * *

><p><strong>.: THREE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Incoming transitional signal from the 4th Division," one of the techs announces, just as the fanciful ship of Peacock Princess Kada sails into view.

"We should say hello," Kamui laughs, waving nonchalantly out the window.

"No, we shouldn't," Abuto repudiates, sighing. "You know that Kada, she'll bite off your head if you get the chance. You know, _Danchou_, I heard she has a bounty on your father's head."

"Oh no, she won't be able to get him." Kamui smiles knowingly.

"I heard the bounty's in the billions," Abuto continues.

"Like that'll help us," snorts Kamui, folding his arms. "Right, guys?"

No one says anything.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JULY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"This has nothing to do with you," Umibouzu said tersely, when the Shinra was incapacitated. "I am following a specific request, and the fact that there is a bounty on my head is simply a tagalong effect."

"What is our _real_ purpose? Why am I here?"

Deeming the dank, abandoned alley relatively safe, Umibouzu motioned for him to come closer and listen.

"It goes somewhat like this."

_A higher-up, whose name will remain anonymous, has issued specific orders in multiple areas of the universe in a plan that will counteract the Harusame's terrorist activities in Sciuttla. The basis for Sciuttla's rebel activities lies within the production of the Paradise drug, which is made from a rare, Sciuttlan weed. The Harusame, in order to continue successful trade, was ordered by the planet's higher ups to crush rebellion through destructive total warfare. The aforementioned higher-up, with extensive connections throughout the galaxies, has both personal and professional purposes. One, his sister-in-law was killed by the hand of Harusame pirates when she attempted to help an injured traitor, in the process impeding the transaction of large illegal sales, both related and unrelated to the Sciuttlan crisis. In the diplomatic realm, several alliance negotiations are in peril, and if the Sciuttlan military dictatorship continues, then several planets will declare war and galactic destruction will likely ensue._

Zenshi rocked back on his heels.

"Is that too much at once?" Umibouzu said, voice suddenly softening. He was, in that light, a father through and through. He set a hand on Zenshi's shoulder. "There are more people than you can even imagine, all involved in this. This war will mean destruction that—"

"I know," Zenshi replied, finding his voice. He knew which planets were going to find themselves inevitably drawn into the war zone. He knew the consequences.

"I am trying to help, but Kada is out for my head," muttered Umibouzu.

"What about Yoshiwara?" demanded Zenshi. "You never explained that."

"That, son," replied the universe's strongest, "is a different story entirely. I suggest you leave the Earthlings to their own."

* * *

><p><strong>.: -YOSHIWARA- JULY, PRESENT :.<strong>

Yoshiwara was always in flames, both the spiritual and literal kind.

_If we are doomed to experience the suffering from a loss, then why shoulder the burden to begin with_?

The moon cradled them in its ephemeral, soft light, soaking up the bloodshed and the tears, the regrets and the fears, the apologies and the acceptances.

They stood and watched, masks of silence descending.

The final wire rained to the ground, cut from its skyline to skyline length. Tsukuyo, feeling the sensation of leaden limbs fading, slowly made her way to the balcony, admiring the moonlight.

_ If the master's duty is to shoulder the student along with their pain, then what is the student's duty?_

Are useless burdens the ones that make you strong?

She smiled at the twinkling night sky.

_ To grow strong enough to shoulder the master._

* * *

><p>I'm sorryyy I lapsed into <strong>Emeralds <strong>style and went all confusing on youuu!

IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE VAGUE, MY APOLOGIESSS.

The thing is, with Umibouzu, they're actually just running from embassy to embassy collecting certain materials (all sent by the "higher-up") but Kujaku Hime Kada wants Umibouzu dead, so they face an almost war-zone (lol).

why the lol

idon'tknow

and

**Let's play a game!**

called: **WHICH ARC DID I JUST COVER?!**


	29. - Twenty-Nine -

Aaand we're back from commercial break! Let's get back to: **WHICH ARC DID I COVER?!**

Yes, it was the Yoshiwara one: the **Red Spider Arc**. My dear guest who always reviews, I, too, confuse this with **Yoshiwara in Flames.**

BECAUSE WHAT PART OF YOSHIWARA WAS IN FLAMES DURING THAT ARC?! TELL ME?! *cue Ginpachi-sensei throwing question in trash* when I think IN FLAMES I think of JIRAIA and his literal SETTING AFIRE OF YOSHIWARAAAA.

But yes. That was it.

FUN FACTS:

**Ch. 28: **real quotes from Gintama useeeed! and of course... this leads toooo...

**DISCLAIMER: "When you love a person, you love all the dirty things about her too!" -Sakata Gintoki**

**(c) the GREAT SORACHI**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 29 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, FIVE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

The petrichor of new rain emanated from all about, soaking them in the damp yet crisp enrapture of clean air. The sun hadn't quite emerged, but the streams of light permeated the clouds in miniscule tunnels.

Zenshi touched Tsukuyo's shoulder. She broke from her thoughts, pushing herself to her feet.

"What time is it?"

"About time," he replied, shaking the water from his umbrella. With the subtle overcast, he promptly decided that there would be no need for the shade.

They started to walk home.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Mid-JULY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Well done," said Umibouzu, nodding in approval. "What does the key say?"

"Here are the coordinates," answered Zenshi, flipping the paper open. "That's back down to the southwestern embassy."

They had been following a chain of letters for weeks, now. Umibouzu's main purpose on earth was, besides running from Kada's henchmen, to collect a series of letters and redistribute them so as to jumble the mail's chain of passage. He would, upon collecting the envelopes that passed through Edo, redress the packages and change the envelopes, essentially erasing tracks. All were dealing with this "operation" he had so mysteriously spoken of, and more than a few were to big names in big places.

"This is the royal Xanxian seal," observed Zenshi, flipping through a few pages.

"Yes. They're on one side of the war, remember?" At times like this, Umibouzu settled down in the shade of a dank alley, his sonorous voice lowered to a rigid mumble.

"We haven't found _it_ though," Zenshi said.

"No, we haven't."

_It_ referred to the _it_ letter that Umibouzu was supposedly supposed to find and give to Zenshi. Apparently it held orders from the "higher-up" that would initiate the official plan. Zenshi's primary concern was: why him?

"Because you're—" Umibouzu's voice staggered, and then he pretended to be overly interested in another letter, rather uncomfortably breaking mid-sentence.

"I appreciate your consideration," Zenshi began complaisantly. "But you mustn't worry about offending me."

"Well." Umibouzu cleared his throat. "You are, primarily, the most mobile link to Linter at the moment. And I don't have to explain much else, do I?"

Unbeknownst to Zenshi, there was much else to explain. But for the moment, it made logical sense that the son of one of the universe's most powerful political figures would be a key within this remarkable operation.

"Sometimes I wonder," Umibouzu implored suddenly, "if you and Kagura are similar."

Zenshi's expression was blank.

"Since, after all, you were both left behind by fathers."

The younger Yato offered the old fighter a wan sigh.

"Are you?" asked Umibouzu.

"What do you think?"

* * *

><p><strong>.: Beginning of JULY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Umibouzu exchanged a strapped package for another. Zenshi, on the other hand, was occupied with his own letter. He had long since pulled out the Sciuttlan letter, and despite Mei's warning to burn the message, he reluctantly kept it a few more days to confirm what his eyes read.

_To whom it may concern,_

_ I have reason to believe that a friend of mine is in danger. There is a specific person I wish to seek, and I am aware that he currently resides on Earth. I would prefer if he keeps quiet about the origin of this letter. The process will most likely take a few months, seeing as my own situation is one of urgency and incognito travel._

_ Soldier three seven three, do not forget this:_

_ I will never forget your act of kindness. We are well, as well as one can be when there are military raids and civilian shootings. The children and families you entrusted to me have fared decently, despite the government recruitments. There have been few "disappearances" from this suburb, for it's out of the way and rather quiet. Soldiers have inevitably claimed all young men thirteen and older. The rest quake in fear for the day their thirteenth birthday arrives; I have seen many cry as they are carted away._

_ But enough story._

And then it went blank. Earlier, Umibouzu had rather intrusively leaned over his shoulder and suggested he shine an ultraviolet light over the letter. It revealed:

_The requests should have gone through. Earth is our main exchange area, and though some do not have access to invisible ink, they will still open with the same format. This is, I'm told, for security purposes. _

_ A military raid is coming our way soon. There are plans to bomb all rebel cities, even the big ones. We are living in a medium-sized metropolis, but nowhere is safe. The outward alliances are uneasy because the government here gives no word._

_ As much as I will try to protect others and stay safe, please stay safe as well._

_ Signed:_

Petty Officer Jenhao — _East Tomokaz, Sciuttla. _

* * *

><p><strong>.: THREE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

She has procured a pillow and is throwing it down the hall, picking it up, and throwing it again. They fly down the corridor with astonishing speed, and Mei hits the turn so fast that she nearly squashes a poor crewman against the wall. Zenshi, though of a tall build, sweeps the deck like a phantom, taking long, swift strides whilst watching Mei scramble after him.

"Pillow fight?" sings Kamui, coming out of one area and very naturally flattening himself against the nearest bulwark before Mei can slam the pillow in his face.

She instead smacks right into Abuto, who is less than amused.

"We are _pirates_," he says, muffled through the pillowcase. Mei withdraws, looking half abashed and half on the verge of hilarity. Her mirth is a droll contrast to Abuto's drab disregard for all humor (though he himself is quite the comedian, at times). "We don't," he emphasizes, "have pillow fights."

Mei turns indignantly to Kamui. Both she and Zenshi have not so much as moved an inch, awaiting their redheaded commander's predictable next words.

"The captain orders it." He grins; Abuto grimaces.

The youngest crewmembers are streaking down the halls with cushions in hand, and though one of them manages to fall into a vat of soup and upset everyone in the galley, the entire thing is ridiculously entertaining. Zenshi spends a majority of his time evading, while the newest recruits and those his own age and doubling over with laughter, pillows smashed between limbs and faces.

Tabs emerges as king until Mei bursts from a storage closet and nails him in the face. They dissolve into cacophonous laughter, with Mei who snorts when she laughs and Tabs who sounds like a prim Thoroughbred turned donkey.

Kamui reaches up and smacks Tabs with a pillow, despite the fact that the older seaman had already pinned their captain with a cleverly planned cushion ambush.

"Today, I assume the role of captain," Tabs declares.

"Hey, I just got you." Mei rolls her eyes, sitting atop her mountain of pillows. Someone's muffled voice comes from below, and she ignores it. The older members of the crew pick around the mess like it's a quotidian scene, eyes amusedly glazing over the gigantic Harusame crest that has been painted in tomato soup across the galley floor.

It will, inevitably, be mopped up by one of the perpetrators.

And Zenshi laughs when Tabs and Mei stand there, buckets and pails and scrubs at ready, looking somewhat forlorn but and somewhat teary-eyed — from laughter, that is.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Beginning of JULY, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Not only did the letter start the same way, but it also addressed him as 373. Umibouzu, rather flatly, informed him that this was the code for sending all letters. Almost everyone involved had been assigned a number, revolving around his central Harusame initiation code.

"I didn't use the black-light ink," Umibouzu explained, "because I felt there was no need. You wouldn't have known to use the light, anyway."

A younger Zenshi might have bristled at this, but the present him dropped the subject to brood in silence. _He knew_, Zenshi thought. Jenhao had known precisely what he was doing.

Or had he?

"Hey, Blue," called the bald Yato. He had taken to calling Zenshi "Blue," a nickname from so long ago that the person in question had nearly forgotten it. It originated from his hair, which, though black for the most part, glinted a metallic navy in the discerning light. His younger years had seen a lighter shade, a dark cobalt that earned him his "Blue" title in elementary school. Besides that obscure fact, Zenshi readily admitted that he tended to wear an abundance of blue apparel.

Zenshi turned to face Umibouzu when called.

"Burn that letter."

* * *

><p><strong>.: -YOSHIWARA- JULY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Don't forget your bento," Hinowa called absently. There was no need to remind the boy, for he was sitting lugubrious gloom, the bento in question set in front of him before his departure for summer school.

"Mom," Seita said, almost blankly. "I didn't do my math homework."

Hinowa frowned. "Nothing you can do now, Seita. Make sure you come home and do it tonight, then."

"Okay." The boy had barely pushed his oatmeal around, and now presented it to her completely untouched.

"Eat yer breakfast," Tsukuyo glowered.

"I did."

"Oh?"

Seita stood, then. "I'm going to go early and see if I can get some homework done."

Tsukuyo began to rise, but Hinowa caught her sleeve.

"It's been a tough week. Let him go." The top courtesan's eyes drifted to the buildings across the street, rooftops still singed by long-extinguished flames. Metallic wires remained cautious remnants here and there, despite Yorozuya's frantic cutting and tearing.

Tsukuyo slowly leaned back into her seat.

"He's bad at history, y'know," she mentioned, out of the blue. "Not math. Hist'ry."

"I know."

* * *

><p>kind of short, but I hope to get another one out for <strong>30<strong>!

There are a few references in this one. CAN YOU SPOT'EM?!


	30. - Thirty -

**30 chapter milestone!**

FUN FACTS:

**Ch. 29: **The royal "Xanxian" seal is based off of Xanxus' name (Katekyo Hitman Reborn)

**Ch. 29: **_East Tomokaz - _the name is a lil play on words on Gintoki's seiyuu's name (voice actor), Sugita Tomokazu. Lol.

**Ch. 29: **Mei's warning, "Burn this letter" is a result of me studying history. The U.S. Presidential Election of 1884, Grover Cleveland vs. James Blaine, in which Cleveland was accused of having an amorous affair. To the rhythm of "left, left, left, right, left!" the Democrats sang "Burn, burn, burn this letter!" because there was a letter incriminating Cleveland. Republicans jauntily replied, "Ma, Ma, where's my Pa?!". The Democrats retorted, lastly, with "Gone to the White House, ha, ha, ha!" ...I thought that was fun.

**DISCLAIMER: neo armstrong cyclone jet armstrong cannon is Sorachi's.**

**NOTE:** _I know I covered a big time skip, and the fact that the anime even has a huge "two year break" among other great events shows that this timeline is extremely scrunched. HOWEVER, this is GINTAMA after all, sooooo...DONDAKEEE!_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 30 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: End of JULY, PRESENT :.<strong>

Umibouzu whirled around so quickly that he nearly took out Zenshi's nose with his head.

"This is it, Blue!" He stuffed a thick letter up his sleeve. "Now let's move, we're in shady territory."

Traipsing through the heart of the Peacock Princess's expansive reach, the two ducked out of the casino's backdoor trade center and made haste for the bustle of the city, where the traffic and population would provide cover.

"The guard has been up, lately," Zenshi muttered. He found himself rather muddled by his recent propensity for stating the obvious. It was as if he had grown too fond of speaking, and now, without anything truly meaningful to contribute, he simply described his methodic observations.

"The Bakufu is on the lookout for terrorists," Umibouzu replied. "See that?"

A gesture to the Shinsengumi patrolling at all odd hours of the night was enough incentive to keep on the down low, terrorist or not. Even so, Umibouzu was inexplicably excited. Zenshi, on a misanthropic tangent, was vaguely inclined to believe the man was excited because he would soon be done with this horrible job.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

"Are ya any good with hist'ry?" Tsukuyo inquired, when Zenshi emerged from the guest room (which he kept painstakingly clean and untouched, as he always did). He cast her a nebulous glance, not quite awake but not quite off in dreamland either. The way she had so conveniently slipped in front of his doorway as he walked out created the suggestion that she had been waiting for him.

"Hist'ry," he echoed owlishly, rolling her accent off his own tongue just to tease.

"_History_," she reiterated.

"What about it?"

"Seita needs help with homework, and I'm no good."

"I'm sure you are excellent."

She threw him an exasperated sidelong glance before leading the way down the hall. Again, he was disposed to believe she had recruited him from his room, waiting for the precise moment he stepped outside to snatch him in this conversation.

"Seita doesn't want me as a teacher," she explained. Zenshi, with his noble silence, was wise enough not to comment. "Just a little hist'ry. And math." Tsukuyo glanced over at Zenshi, discovered his smug amusement to be the greatest nuisance in the world, and rather snappily added "_history_" as clearly as possible.

"My Earth _history_ is dusty, but I'll see what I can do." He felt the start of a grin, but withheld his delight to save himself the inevitable attack. Tsukuyo simply glared, however, and they progressed in silence until they reached a harried Seita curled over a textbook.

"_Please_, can we just do math? I don't want to study history," he was pouting, begging his mother. Hinowa, looking prim and regal in her wheelchair, slightly relented. She allowed him a short break from history to change gears. To their dismay, he began to whine about his arithmetic instead.

"Whaddaya mean it doesn't make sense? Of course it does! Fifteen times fourteen is…" Tsukuyo trailed off with an expression that illustrated her mental math skills.

"Tsukuyo-nee, you can't do it either."

"Of course I can! I'm good on paper."

Seita shot her an accusing glare.

"Two hundred ten."

Seita turned and beamed at Zenshi.

"See, now we're talking!"

* * *

><p><strong>.: End of JULY, PRESENT :.<strong>

"I am not suspicious at all."

To the Mimawarigumi, who overlapped the Shinsengumi's patrol somewhere in the middle of Kada's territory, these were hardly the words they wanted to hear. In fact, the baldy had such a terrible, inscrutable expression on his face that it made him all the more suspicious.

They cuffed him.

"Hold on," called Zenshi, hoping to mitigate the situation. Almost comically, he was about to add something along the lines of "He's really not a suspicious person" before he realized how much Earthlings were rubbing off on him, but resorted to the gravitational silence he'd known so well before.

"He's not under arrest," a white-uniformed officer explained. "We're just investigating anybody who snoops about at odd hours of the night."

"He's my uncle," Zenshi offered patiently. "His daughter is sick, and he has bad eyesight, so we were just heading home from the pharmacy."

A mental thumbs up from Umibouzu. Zenshi gestured innocently to the pharmacy a few blocks back, and the men exchanged glances. There were quite a few of them in the area, despite the fact that no one was around.

A few snapped to attention; someone had arrived.

"What's this?" said a pompous, somewhat nasally voice. "Bring all suspicious figures in for questioning. No excuses. We're on tight patrol here."

He turned sharply to Zenshi. The Yato found himself staring at a heavy-lidded, tight-lipped man with pale hair swept back from a defined face. The most intriguing feature was his nose, a hooked obstruction in the middle of excessively gaunt cheeks.

"The nephew can come with, if he'd like." The frankly unconvinced boredom in his eyes, however, conveyed nothing but sardonic pity.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

"Look here." Zenshi pointed out a problem. "It's the same as this one."

Seita lit up with a smile, his mathematic epiphany triumphing his earlier disgruntlement.

"I get it!" he exclaimed brightly. He beamed.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"So, Earth fighter, how are your travels?"

"Decent. And yours?"

"Great. Where are we headed?"

The trail of smoke off the _kiseru_ glided serpentines towards above the map, where red ink crossed the names of dead Bakufu officials, and a large circle entrapped the capital palace.

* * *

><p><strong>.: THIRTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"This is my son, Zenshi." The well-dressed diplomat claps a hand on his child's shoulder, a boy of fourteen years and quiet, unobtrusive greetings.

"A pleasure." The foreign prince extends a hand to both father and son. Behind him is a delegate of so many intergalactic royals that Zenshi's memory is boggled with the names he'd tried to memorize in one shot earlier. Matching faces to titles is more difficult than remembers — is that green Amanto a duke or simply another envoy? — and the shier he becomes, the farther he shrinks away.

"Push your hair back," Linter tells his son strictly. "Look straight. No, not like that."

Zenshi stiffens, then attempts to undo his unnatural posture. Almost as if he is a princess trained in etiquette, the young Yato performs the very polite and proper greetings almost robotically. His rigid hello to the Hata Prince — who is a young, round Amanto boy with almond eyes, light purple skin, and a bizarre antenna sprouting from his head — displeases his father, who sourly guides him to the refreshment table for a lecture.

"Perhaps you ought to smile," suggests the man, somewhat tired but somewhat sympathetic.

Zenshi swallows too much fruit punch at once and chokes on it before hacking it out of his lungs.

"I guess not, then." Linter sighs, looking irate.

His son, at that moment, is thoroughly convinced that he should've just continued choking until he passed out, subsequently liberated from his daunting duties.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"I _told _them I was no one suspicious!"

Umibouzu rubbed his wrists, where slight marks from his handcuffs had left an imprint.

"Yet they keep me for three days!"

"Their processing is slow," deadpanned Zenshi, with little interest and little tolerance left in his system. He eyed the older Yato — a man who, if he desired, could snap those flimsy metal handcuffs between his fingers with ease — and sighed, warily reminded of his father and those glares of disapproval he'd apparently inherited.

"They didn't search me, so I'd say we're all good." The man was too optimistic for his own good. Was the great Umibouzu always this far on the bright side?

"And the letter?"

A flash of white from his pocket, and Zenshi was reassured.

Even though he didn't know who it was from, at least their month-long efforts had landed them in some form of progress.

* * *

><p><strong>.: -YOSHIWARA- AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

_Good men always keep their promises._

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

When Seita returned early from school, he immediately demanded that they go out to buy space-jellyfish's tongue. Incredulously, Zenshi and Tsukuyo shared amused glances and waited for explanation.

"I sort of bragged to my friends about how I make awesome space food, so I'm bringing it for class show and tell," came the long-winded, bashful response.

"Show 'n tell?" parroted Tsukuyo, her eyes wide.

"Well, I guess it's like a class snack." Seita turned his eyes pleadingly to Zenshi, who mustered as still of an expression as possible. Seemingly coolly unconcerned, he began to stir Seita into a massive fret. "Please, just this once! I also want to see the space market, too!"

His solicitous begging and the puppy-like wiggle sold the deal.

"Fine," Tsukuyo agreed hastily, before Zenshi could even bother to give consent. "We'll go after dinner."

"No," interrupted Hinowa firmly, "after you do your _homework_, young man."

She glared at the ecstatic child, who paused mid-dance to flash a reticent expression of horror.

"C'mon, get your math out," prompted his mother.

"But I don't _wanna_," Seita moped, unceremoniously plopping himself down opposite Zenshi at the table.

"If you read _yer hist'ry_ with an accent, it might be fun," suggested the Yato, venturing a cautionary glance in Tsukuyo's direction. The blonde restrained her fuming and laid out a petulant glare that he exaggeratedly avoided.

"Another word that's not _hist'ry_, and you two'll get it." She brandished a kunai with astonishing speed.

Seita flipped his textbook open before Tsukuyo could even say another word.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

_To whom it may concern,_

_ I have reason to believe that a friend of mine is in danger. There is a specific person I wish to seek, and I am aware that he currently resides on Earth. I would prefer if he keeps quiet about the origin of this letter. The process will most likely take a few months, seeing as my own situation is one of urgency and incognito travel._

_ You idiot lieutenant, do not forget this:_

Umibouzu grabbed a UV-light and illuminated the paper in faint, violet glow. Even without the rest of the letter, Zenshi was rather sure of the sender's identity.

_Harusame's on the move. If you need cover, I suggest you use the Earth commotion now. Technically, _we're _not on the move — we're just traveling our usual rounds at this time of the year. It's our new allies that are making the moves, and our stupid Danchou has decided to tag along. _

_ Watch out for the police because your name is probably on record for the Harusame. _

_ Toodle-loo._

_ Signed:_

The New Lieutenant (who is so much better than the old one), Mei — _7th Div._

* * *

><p>See what I mean by timeline? Okay, so I know this is kind of getting rushed, but I'm pushing, and I'm sorry...I hope it works out all right.<p>

Please tell me what you think!

Anyway,

who's up for another round of

**WHICH ARC AM I COVERING?!**

and there are foreshadowing hints to that one time Seita was embarrassed by his mom's bento, and also the time Gin and Tsukki tried teaching him history lolollolololllllllll


	31. - Thirty-One -

Last one. I procrastinated too much, lol.

**Disclaimer: whatever you do, don't go through the yoshida shouyou tag on tumblr. death by feeels.**

**Thanks to - SORACHI HIDEAKI - the master**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 31 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

Without ever realizing, she meandered closer and closer to the shade of his umbrella on their long, languid walks. Their charge, Seita, was a frolicking colt from stall to stall, market to market. The space shops gained new novelty; even Zenshi's new predilection for imitating her accent lightheartedly did not deter Tsukuyo from a small smile.

"The weather's good," she noted.

"Ever since the storm passed," he agreed.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Wait." Umibouzu grasped his wrist, pulling the paper closer to the black-light. "She must've left another location."

"This was _it_, was it not?" replied Zenshi.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean the end of the chain." The bald Yato flipped the paper, flapping it flat. "There."

The UV light illuminated glowing, luminescent lavender writing. In familiar block characters and neat lines, Mei had written one last thing on the back of her letter.

_August 8th, Greater Edo Transit Metro. Southwestern station one outside Kabukichou. Take the 8AM train to the Shibuya Regret Hall. Wait._

"How pleasant," Zenshi said dryly. "Another adventure."

"Well, what were you expecting, Blue? To be done with this?" Umibouzu cast him a pitying glance, for he knew, and Zenshi knew, that they were both entrenched too deep to back out, even if one had never intended to become so involved in the first place.

* * *

><p><strong>.: THREE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Mei stumbles on the taciturn lieutenant in one of the top deck observatories, glass-paned rooms almost designed solely for luxury. They are occasionally used to host prestigious guests of higher ranks, such as their foolish admiral or some Harusame higher echelon delegate.

Now, however, the room is dark, unlit except by the eerie glow of a few nearby moons reflecting their respective suns. Zenshi sits cross-legged by the window, his long limbs folded beneath himself with such precarious grace that Mei wonders how her giraffe of a friend manages to look so poised all the time.

Her hand reaches to flick the lights on, but he notices her presence and gestures her away from the switch. She plods over to him, settling down in the same pose to gaze at the same distant nothingness.

"No asteroid belts here," she quips lightly. Her voice echoes through the empty room, startlingly loud.

"No," he concurs, never once peeling his eyes away from the window. She wonders what he sees in his cerulean eyes.

"I've got orange roots coming back in. Look," Mei prompts, patting her head. Her bleached blonde hair has, in fact, grown out a little bit — a few longer locks brush barely past her ears — and the vibrant tangerine of her natural color has reemerged. She plans to cut it soon, probably this week, but finds the combination of white and orange to be amusing. She'll keep it for a while.

Her attempts to draw his attention away from outer space, however, are in vain. Her three more fruitless coaxes are explicitly ignored.

"Okay, what are you looking at?" She leans amiably into his shoulder. As expected, he neither pushes her away nor gives in. "There's _nothing_ out there."

Mei adopts a few teasing nicknames for her favorite lieutenant, but the sigh that escapes his lips is like a wisp of cold breeze that tickles her skin. She wonders if he has actually been thinking that whole time. Maybe he, too, needed a moment to just empty all mundane thoughts and beguile himself with delusions of freedom.

Suddenly, he speaks. And, of course, the first words out of his mouth are impetuously grating. Not in the way that Tabs is, not braggart or loud, but instead sardonic and so wry that she could twist the sarcasm out of a towel made of his essence.

"Asteroid belt."

"You're kidding me, aren't you?" Mei leaps to her feet. "There is nothing, absolutely _nothing_ out there!"

Zenshi points upward.

To both Mei's dismay and wonder, she realizes that the windows aren't simply floor to ceiling, but encompass the roof as well. Almost like a transparent dome to the skies, the roof morphs into a grand planetarium, the stars cordial in their charismatic twinkles.

And, rather absurdly, there is, in fact, an asteroid belt above them.

"It's the same as the one from earlier," Zenshi informs her, still seated. "We've been following it."

She can't argue with that, and seeing as she's currently occupied with their strange positioning, Mei falls to silence.

"Is it above us and we're below it, or are we actually above it and upside down, but it's below us?" she suddenly bursts out, after a minute or two. "We could be on its left and tilted sideways and we'd never know."

"Try sitting here and imagining every perspective."

"Is that what you've been doing?"

He shrugs, making a noncommittal noise to no one in particular. There, suspended in the blanket of space, they are both inside and out, moving forward, back, left, right, up, and down, all at once.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Odds or evens?" beseeched a lilting, feminine voice. "It's your choice."

Instantaneously, Umibouzu swabbed a match from his pocket and set the letter afire. Zenshi, on the other hand, did not move, struggling to locate the source of the echoing voice, which bounced about the darkened street dissonantly.

"Odd," he called, hoping to draw an answer.

"Wrong, it was even." Kada materialized out of thin air, her blue hair first precipitating from the darkness before her body followed. A troop of four Shinra warriors flanked her sides.

"Kada," Umibouzu addressed flatly, hand fisted around his umbrella handle.

"This is lovely," sang the woman, "absolutely lovely."

Her tone insinuated friendly conversation, a nostalgic reunion; her face, on the other hand, exuded eminent scorn.

"Come to kill me?"

"How _sharp_ of you," Kada very nearly purred. Zenshi felt his fellow Yato bristling beside him, decidedly uncomfortable. But the universe's strongest was not one to be enervated by Kada's efficacious voice. "But no, we are not."

Suddenly, Kada's body flickered, her image breaking mechanically. Zenshi realized why he couldn't locate her voice or sense her full presence — it was a hologram. The Shinra beside her were also holograms, disrupted as they ran out of film and shuddered to a halt.

Umibouzu quickly tracked the receding light, finding a small camera box with burnt out wires. "She set this up," he said gruffly, frowning. Zenshi spied a marking on the holographic generator that made him disagree.

"No," he protested. "Here."

His finger traced a Harusame crest, along the bottom ridge of the projector.

"Harusame? Kada was a division leader, I know, but what—" Umibouzu's eyes widened and he paused, deep in thought. "She was jailed, wasn't she? The one news story way back when was about her, wasn't it?"

"For siphoning money from the Harusame reserves," affirmed Zenshi. He tried his best to keep up with news on Earth, even if it meant watching the bizarre weather lady on channel 9 and flipping relentlessly through Hinowa's countless channels for the right space broadcasts. The one that constantly played in his division ship's second cabin was the one that relayed all the sex, scandal, and corruption in intergalactic pirate work.

"Then who put the hit on me?" The older Yato was concerned, then, his voice reflecting the dissension and anxiety within him. "I'm only a freelancer, a threat to no one. Kada wanted to eliminate me as the strongest man, but others typically seek me…"

Zenshi pulled his finger away from the little hologram programmer, as if repulsed by its ink-black rim and Harusame symbol. He knew exactly who had put the hit on Umibouzu. That person was well aware of the fact that no one he hired would be able to take out the veteran Yato.

And that person was Harusame's new admiral.

Kamui.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

She brought it up one day, out of the blue, that he never really called her by name. Somehow, he managed to catch her attention or simply rely on her keen intuition and attention.

"I could say the same of you to me," he countered with such blatant straightforwardness that she slipped into one of her signature glares.

"_Zen_," she drawled with mock enthusiasm.

"_Tsukki_," he returned, putting so much emphasis on the end syllable that he sounded like he was hacking on saliva.

"No," she protested, "that's just weird."

"You want me to call you _darlin'_, instead?" He was witty and quick, as usual, and his manifold arsenal of playful attacks against her accent was the new entertainment.

"When do I say _darlin_'," snorted Tsukuyo, folding her arms. "Liar."

"I just do my _studyin'_ of people, _honey_," he cajoled with as much molasses-sweet sarcasm in his voice. She was inexplicably enraptured by the satirical little smirk on his face, but at the same time she grappled the seminal urge to smack him up the back of the head, hard.

"I don't say that."

He lapsed into typical silence, and she glared some more.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

He hadn't slept much that night, haunted by what sounded like explosions and hoards of people in the distance. His keen ears had chased any hope of catching sleep before morning away, soaked in the night's damp warmth and echoing booms.

"The humans are at it again," Umibouzu muttered. His vague statement could have been an inappropriate innuendo or a disparaging statement. Zenshi left it at the latter, leaning against the headboard of the hotel bed he currently sat in. Umibouzu had forced him to take it, his vaguely paternal instincts insisting on the younger companion's comfort, he himself residing in the pull-out couch by the window.

Zenshi, from his slanted vantage point, watched the city's lights flicker on here and there, from the Shogun's palace to the districts to the Central Terminal and back.

When sleep finally came to claim him, he worried he was hallucinating.

It was as if gigantic, glowing spaceships were descending on the Bakufu center, waving demise in their faces.

* * *

><p><strong>.: THIRTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"He looks just like you," twitters a rather large, plump lady with skin like orange peels and four eyes adorning her human-esque head. "What a darling."

"He gets his soft face from his mother," Linter offers.

"Oh no, he's as handsome as his father."

The cooing and the praising make him sick, and Zenshi has to fight the urge to recoil from the probing hands on his cheeks and through his hair. He's had enough of grimy foreign Amanto swiping their oily fingers over him, touching his arms and blubbering nonsense about how he's just like his father.

He employs a child's strategies the best he can.

"Dad," he entreats in the politest voice he can muster, "I'm really hungry."

"Hush, Zenshi. You're fourteen, you can deal with it."

When he was younger, it had worked quite well. Now, as his shoulders begin to fill out and his voice drops from its innocent, childish melody to that of a struggling, growing boy, Zenshi cannot recreate the pitiful image he once sought shelter in.

"What a gem," cries another woman. Zenshi is one hundred percent done with foreign duchesses. "He looks _just_ like you."

There is never a word _to him_, only to his father.

He pretends he's not bothered.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"All right, Blue, we're here." Had Shibuya Regret Hall retained more of its opening glory and less of its ironically ashamed name, Umibouzu probably would have appraised it with a more appreciative glance. However, he stalked through the station and waited at the end of the platform, as somewhat suggested.

"Okay, Bud, don't move."

Zenshi whipped around, but a hand clamped down solidly on his shoulder. Umibouzu's umbrella came out so quickly that Zenshi's natural instinct to dodge wrenched him from the hands of the third person.

The crowd from the train had died down, leaving only a few morning commuters at the opposite end. Umibouzu, ever cautious of civilians, angled his parasol's ammunition so that no one besides his target would become involved.

"Hands up," growled the older Yato.

"No wait," Zenshi said, clasping a hand on the bald father before he could shoot. At the same time, the third man put up his hands and began to speak.

"Three seven three," he said. "Hold up."

"You know him?" Umibouzu asked, regarding their third member with unease. He noticed right away the umbrella alongside the man, the dark cloak, and the eastern styled Yato clothing.

"I do." Zenshi approached. "Abuto."

"Well, I am honored that you remember my name, bud." Abuto cracked a sardonic grin. "But we've gotta get moving."

* * *

><p><strong>.: -YOSHIWARA- AUGUST, LAST NIGHT :.<strong>

_ I'm one hundred percent aware that I'm breaking a law. If it pleases you, then cut me down as my punishment. If it isn't enough for a blade to take my arms...Then take a leg or my head as you see fit. However, everyone has granted me...One more chance to honor the promise we exchanged that night. The promised string that connects our souls...no matter what blade you use on it, will never be severed._

There was a full moon that night, illuminating a pool of faded green grass and the ghost of a sakura tree. Curious eyes peeked around corners as the elderly man made his way to the ring of moonlight. But in their eyes, he was hardly aged at all — instead, a young man extended his hand, the promised bond wrapped around his pinky finger gleaming delicately in the ephemeral reflection of the moon, reaching for hers.

"You won't go this time, will you?" she murmured, letting her hand descend into his.

"No, I won't," he reassured her, gently taking her into his arms.

Gleaming in the light, the soft rosy sakura fluttered lightly into the sky.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, ONE MONTH AGO :.<strong>

Tsukuyo touched his hand, her fingers brushing his so slightly that at first he didn't notice.

"Look," she whispered, pointing at the sky. There was a funny constellation shining above Yoshiwara, and if he tilted his head just enough, it looked like a deformed rabbit. Tsukuyo turned, evaluating the way he yawned his head back and let his gaze slide over the night sky with languorous ease. "It's peaceful, ain't it?"

"It's beautiful," he murmured in response.

They sat there then, legs dangling off the edge of a building, living and breathing the same stars and skies and times.

* * *

><p>If you chose <strong>COURTESAN OF THE NATION ARC<strong> (or Courtesan Turns the Tables)

then you were **CORRECT!**

cue bad timeline noise hear

whAT I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER MY BAD WRITING

HUEHUEHUEHUE

g'night


	32. - Thirty-Two -

FEEL DESPAIR AS TEN NEW CHAPTER UPDATES FROM **EYES OF WOLVES **POPS UP IN YOUR EMAILLLL!

fun facts, yo.

**Ch. 31: **Shibuya Regret Hall is REAL, it's where Otsuu sang once!

**Ch. 31: **_friggin' asteroid belt_

**Ch. 31: **Loophole fixed, lol.

**Ch. 31: **Cue author crying over Maizou and Suzuran.

**DISCLAIMER: **Gintama is not mine, as I have SHORTENED TWO + ENTIRE SEASONS INTO LIKE, ONE MONTH.

**Shooguunnnn kayoooooo?!**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 32 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"I can introduce you to some prosthetic arm engineers," Umibouzu commented flatly as they followed Abuto through the incoming 9:00AM crowd. If Zenshi had not known his former vice-captain so well, he would have assumed that Abuto's deprecating smirk was insulting. The mood exuded, however, from the older man was anything but.

"I'll think about it."

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Mei leans into his injured thigh with deliberate sadism, probing for the point where he'll curl his lips back in a lupine snarl and chase her away. For a while, Zenshi remains stoic and stiff against the raised back of the hospital bed, eyes fixated so glaringly on her luscious orange hair that he could probably set it ablaze with sheer willpower.

She digs her elbow into his broken femur, nonchalantly.

He snaps and his hand shoots out to shove her away.

"Wow, geez," she spits. "I was comfy."

Mei is naturally comfortable with almost everyone, and has, over the course of the last two years, decided that her third year would be spent with the taciturn dark-haired Yato from three rooms down. On the receiving end, Zenshi is not so sure he appreciates her brutish administrations.

"How's the knee?" She goes to tweak his sprained joint, but at that very moment, their professor walks in. It is their advanced government and intergalactic relations teacher, the one who received a heavy stride by the back of Rokudo's hand in the amphitheatre during the assembly.

"How's the knee?" he asks, reiterating Mei's sardonic inquiry, but with sincere concern.

"Fine," answers Zenshi tersely.

"What a crazy class I have, don't I?" The Amanto smiles. The crinkles around his eyes are proof that he smiles often; he is a kind man who wears comical ties to work and never fails to evoke laughter from his classes. Zenshi's favorite teacher by far. "I guess it can't be helped. I'm just glad everyone's safe now."

Zenshi carefully tucks away the fact that the teacher doesn't issue the regular, "I'm glad no one got hurt," for it would do him no good here.

"Make sure he eats up," the teacher advises Mei. "I've seen him in the study hall for hours on end without eating a single thing."

"Sure thing," Mei chirps. She unceremoniously rocks back onto Zenshi's mattress and cheekily pulls a small apple from her bag. "Unless I eat it all, first."

The rest of their day is spent like that — Mei munching on something from her bottomless pit of a shoulder bag, and Zenshi browsing slowly through a library book he'd requested.

When he actually tells her he's hungry, she laughs.

"I've been waiting _all day_ for you to say that!"

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Knock, knock," Abuto called, promptly kicking down the door. Half a dozen Harusame aliens lurched to their feet and proposed their weapons at hand. Abuto snorted, the scorn definite in his haughty laughter.

"At ease, men," sailed a nasally voice. Daraku.

As per usual, the blue-skinned Amanto with the elfin ears was contemptuously obsessed with the cleanliness of his clothes, rubbing the fabric of his sleeve furiously between his fingers as if to rid all particles of dust from those fibers. Upon their arrival, he regarded them with a brief glance up and down.

"The 7th Division," he addressed curtly, assuming that all three men in customary Yato dress were of the Harusame. Umibouzu wisely kept to himself, as he was apt to do in serious situations. Zenshi readjusted his cloak collar, recoiling into his introverted self; he had, in his pirate years, despised working with Daraku. The man was incessantly driven to loose ends, never once able to complete his work as he should have.

Of course, Daraku was convinced otherwise. "What brings you here?" he invited with derision.

"7th Division?" Abuto countered caustically. "Our commander is your _admiral_."

Daraku, very apparently, appeared to have forgotten. His eyes widened briefly before he coughed to clear an already clear throat.

"Of course. The admiral's crew," he tried again with a slight quiver to his nasal voice. "What brings you here?"

"Kada's money." Abuto was a no-nonsense, typical cordiality to business type of man. Most of the Harusame found it relatively easy to guess which mode he was in. Either he was in the mood to talk, or he wasn't. Daraku was one of the few who lacked the social skills and brainpower to deduce any such interpretation. A few of his men quaked in their boots; their captain, on the other hand, complaisantly swished his cape back and forth before leading them to a concealed back room.

"You know," Daraku mentioned casually, "that Kiheitai couldn't have been any ruder in their negotiations."

They passed into a corridor lined with creaky doors and halls.

"Humans," Abuto answered shortly.

"Exactly. And they're always so—"

A sudden hiss from Zenshi caught their attention. Drawing away from an open door, he rounded on Daraku so violently that the blue Amanto turned green in apprehension. Abuto and Umibouzu peered curiously into the door that Zenshi had so vehemently shied from.

It was an autopsy center, complete with glaring lights and metallic tables dulled with the dried lackluster of old blood. Atop the closest was as colorful Amanto child, dead. The stench of rotting flesh was poorly mixed with preservative chemicals, creating a terrible stench that plied through the air maliciously. A few of Daraku's men, poised over the corpse with scalpels and bloodied tools, glanced up.

"That's a Sciuttlan child," Zenshi seethed through his teeth. He didn't need to even ask Daraku what business he had with the child from the rainbow planet. The poor thing was a boy, maybe eight, maybe Seita's age, with once-vibrant yellow skin and grassy hair. His abdomen was methodically sliced open, chain after chain of body-packed drugs extracted from the entire length of his bowels.

"And? All body-packers are willing volunteers. We send a sum of money to his family, and he comes here to die."

"Body-packers don't have to die," Abuto noted calmly. "They—"

Zenshi lunged for Daraku then, but Abuto's right arm blocked his way, curtailing the attempt.

"Not worth it, bud."

"Blue," murmured Umibouzu. "Let it go."

Who was he to tell Zenshi to _let it go_? Zenshi, snarling inwardly, resentfully withdrew his outward rage. Boiling in his own bubble, he liberally counted the seconds until his anger was enervated.

"Kada's money." Daraku was hardly a squeak, now. "All in here."

Two hefty suitcases filled to the brim with Earth currency. Abuto checked inside and then passed one to Zenshi. He carried the other himself, with his one arm.

"Good," Abuto approved. "Now, carry on. I'll pass on word to the admiral."

As soon as they were outside, Zenshi breathed a sigh of relief, the stench of the hideout freed from his lungs. Abuto, on the other hand, never even paused.

"The transaction will not become known to our stupid _Danchou_," Abuto clipped briskly. He backtracked. "Our Admiral Nincompoop, excuse me."

"And?" prompted Umibouzu. "What about the war efforts?"

"The woman in Sciuttla — the one you saved, Zen — is the widow of a rebel instigator. He was a major figure, and now she's the one running the show." Abuto was rewinding their way back to the train station. "However, you also know that she runs a massive orphanage for children of the abducted, the killed, and the recruited. This money will serve to either evacuate them liberated cities, resistance-allied planets, or to rebuild and fund their interspersed rebellions.

"And you," Abuto concluded, "are to take it to them, bud."

Zenshi froze, somewhat taken aback.

Abuto, discouragingly, moved on quickly.

"It was an honor to meet you, oh father of ours," Abuto said, nodding at Umibouzu. "Your efforts are greatly appreciated."

"Take care of my stupid son, will ya?" The bald Yato shook his head. "A man with a full head of hair like you, he might listen to. Me?" Umibouzu laughed. "Probably not."

"Don't jinx me now," Abuto chuckled, readjusting the suitcase in his hand. "If only he'll stop giving us messes to clean up."

The two men shared a laugh, leaving Zenshi warily watching the exchange.

"Abuto."

"Don't worry about it, bud." A clap on the shoulder. "Our partners in the trade business will come for you, eventually. At the moment, our new travelling buddies are investing their time in Edo. If you don't hear about the news soon, well… you will. And besides that, we're staying put in our ship, and _you_ — both of you — are free until the time comes."

"Were you the one that set Kada's traps?" Umibouzu suddenly interrupted.

"No, that would be our stupid _Danchou_," Abuto replied, smirking. "Oh, stupid _Teitoku_, that is."

"I heard the Earthlings brought her down."

"Yes, that'd be our new partners in crime. They're a fun bunch." Abuto strode over to Zenshi, handing him the second briefcase as they reached the train station by Shibuya Regret Hall. "You've got two arms — carry these."

"Wait—"

"You're not the type of ask questions, so just shut up and wait. We'll take care of ya." Abuto snickered to himself. "Though if you want to ask that girl of yours out on a date, I suggest you open your mouth more."

Zenshi, more momentarily flabbergasted at Abuto's teasing than fretful about his new entrenchment, failed to reply.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, FOUR MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

She lifted her eyes from the uneven contour of his wrist.

"Looks like an old break." Her voice was impassive, but not unkind.

"Like old scars," he answered, the blade of grass between his teeth dipping with his words.

"They never really finish healin', do they?"

"No, they don't."

They lapsed into inadequate silence, each to their own thoughts.

* * *

><p>cries about ZenTsu<p>

cries about ZenMei

cries about this plot

cries about zooming back in time

cries

crai

cries about hw

which I still haven't done

it's midnight gimme gimme gimme a man after midnightttt...

**CLASS 3Z AU: **ZENSHI IS A FRIGGIN' MATH TEACHER, PEOPLE. AND TSUKKI THE OTHER STAFF MEMBER HAS A CRUSH OHOHOHOO


	33. - Thirty-Three -

*screeches*

Relieved because I haven't updated in a while?

Well. Uh. This was hard to write, and I've been increasingly busy...

I'm not quite satisfied with this, but here it is anyway. A real toughie to spit out, this one was.

FUN FACTS:

**Ch. 32: **illegal drug smuggling inspired by the one NCIS episode where DiNozzo is undercover and in the hospital with his gf, the doctor Benoir. (I think that's how you spell it?)

**Disclaimer: Sadist batting cage belongs to Sorachi Hideaki.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 33 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Well Blue, it looks like I'll finally be able to visit my daughter."

Sometimes, Umibouzu was so scatterbrained that Zenshi wondered how in the world the man was so strong.

"If you ever need my help, just call." The bald Yato patted his companion on the back and sauntered down another busy street, leaving Zenshi with two suitcases and a sense of incurable frustration. With unanswered questions and a strange bodily malaise, Zenshi watched the universe's strongest man march off to Kabukichou with as much pomp and circumstance as a king.

The crowd engulfed him, one suitcase, two suitcases, and a Yato.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SIX YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Hey, have you—" Tabs breaks off mid-sentence to stare at his tall, aloof crewmate. "You fly some fancy colors, sir."

"Lieutenant," Abuto provides, clapping a lofty palm against Zenshi's shoulder. "Lieutenant Zenshi, here. Sounds nice, right?"

"Well," Tabs offers, in his roundabout, half-abashed but mostly satirical way, "the uniform matches your umbrella."

The newly appointed lieutenant in question glances down at his parasol. Tabs is right — the gold filigree of his new attire glints alongside the reverberating family crest on the base of the hilt.

Mocking him.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

Zenshi, upon stepping off the metro line, was not awed by the resplendent fervor of Kabukichou's verve and vibrancy. Instead, immediate unease and apprehension saturated his limbs as the familiar ungainly entourage of the Yorozuya party came venturing down the street.

With them, two young women: one who sported plain brown hair and a vivid aura, and another with a soft, reserved voice and an eye patch masking the left side of her face. Evidently, they seemed to be dragging along the resident silver samurai and his charges, to who-knows-where.

"_Anego_, we're going to lunch, yes?" chimed Kagura with enthusiasm. "To the Korean BBQ place, yes?"

"Sure are, Kagura-chan," replied the brunette, toting a few shopping bags and smiling kindly at the younger girl. "We're meeting up with all the girls. It'll be a girls' day."

"I'm sorry, but," said the human-wearing glasses, "if it's a girl's day out, then why are _ we _here?"

A rather unsavory expression crossed the bespectacled boy's face as he gestured to himself and their presumptuous leader.

"We're going shopping. You two will carry the bags." The sadistic smile that flashed obdurately across the girl's face was almost as terrifying as Tsukuyo's brooding on a bad day. In fact, the pernicious expression was so nostalgic that Zenshi's impression of the Yoshiwaran courtesan floated about him, lingering ubiquitously.

He loathed his disorientation, struggling to realign specific smells and sensations with the right people in the right places.

"_Oh_, Otae-san!" whistled another voice. "I brought her!"

Zenshi realized that he was not wrong in the fact that he sensed Tsukuyo; rather than an illusion of the senses, he had mistaken the brunette's cruelly pleasant smile for Tsukuyo's fierceness. The blonde in question appeared in tow behind the ever-peppy Sa-chan, the polar opposite of the lavender-haired kunoichi's excitement. The ominous expression on Tsukuyo's face portended to imminent doom — most likely for Gintoki.

"Please don't tell me you're going to drink," blurted the white-haired samurai abruptly, his hands suddenly unable to find a place to settle. He backed up a few steps.

Tsukuyo flushed. "What're ya tryin' to say, Gintoki?"

"Well, I'm just—"

"Tsukki!" exclaimed Kagura. "Tsukki, let's _party!_"

The Yato girl grasped Tsukuyo by the arm, joining Sa-chan in their collective tug of war with the courtesan.

"Ya know, I, uh —"

Gin, momentarily relieved from Tsukuyo's glare, sidled alongside Shinpachi with plaintive discontent. He grumbled to himself, reluctantly joining his one male employee in leading the girls to the metro station.

Zenshi swept briskly behind a pillar, setting the suitcases down and turning away. There would be no good in running or hiding; in fact, he had no idea why he was running and hiding.

_Idiot_, he hissed inwardly, cursing his luck. Umibouzu had long since vanished, and had left him in, to say the least, an awkward situation. The encounter would be bad enough, what with his deliberately disinterested stance and his downcast gaze.

"Ah!" Kagura abruptly stopped in her tracks, causing Tsukuyo and Sa-chan to tumble around her. The subtle whiff of Yato was enough for the perspicacious girl, whose heightened senses acutely pinpointed her target of interest. "Isn't that Zen-chan? Zen-chan!"

And in that moment, Zenshi discovered exactly how Kamui and Kagura were related — both so bluntly involved in the moment that even if they tried, they refused to accept a nonchalant dismissal of attention. The difference, however, was that Kamui's predation on the susceptible could be classified as malicious. Kagura, on the other hand, witnessed an air of innocence (if it could be called such) that illuminated her panache, her liveliness.

"Oh, Mr. Other Yato," called Gin in his flat voice with his flat smile and his flat dead fish eyes. "Going somewhere?"

The summoned Yato slowly glanced over his shoulder, his eyes sweeping from one member of the group to the next. When he reached Tsukuyo, the urge to sweep along and feel nothing flared instinctively. He had established no bonds with humans. At least, that was what the trained, coldhearted politician within him preached with pervasive conviction.

"Kagura," he decided to call. "Your father was looking for you."

"Papi?" said the girl, excitedly. "Papi was here?"

Zenshi nodded. His eyes lingered about Tsukuyo, who watched him with her typical, apathetic glare. Wordlessly, he stooped to pick up the suitcases.

"Nice of ya to leave a note," she suddenly apprehended. "If only I coulda found it."

"Come to think of it," Gin interrupted, "we haven't really seen you in a while, Mr. Other Yato. What's your name again?"

Tsukuyo tossed a few kunai at the man, the gesture almost affectionate, despite her apparent annoyance.

Zenshi grabbed the other suitcase.

"Yer not gonna answer me?" A brief expression of hurt crossed her face. "Seita's been failin' math, ya know."

It was her way of saying she was angry, her indirect statement of indignant discontent. Did she miss him? He wouldn't know, couldn't know. He hesitated to believe that he _shouldn't_ know, for it was none of his business. Or was it? The questions rambled through his head in shameful fanfare.

"Hire a tutor," he answered simply. Gripping the handles of the luggage, he began a brisk walk to the exit. He would not be taking the train after all.

But then again, he hadn't known where he was going, anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>.: EIGHT YEARS AGO :.<strong>

His mother quietly embroiders a name in fanciful text. He realizes that it's his own, and mildly protests. There's no need for decoration, he claims. But she is a kind, patient, and often stubborn woman, and she fastidiously continues her work.

It's the fabric of his old umbrella, the small one he toted in early childhood. It hardly even spans the length of his arm now.

His mother notices the perplexed grimace on his face. It's not quite a frown, but there is a slight angle to his brows that makes her laugh.

"I'm redecorating the house. Your old umbrella will go with mine, and we'll hang them just for show." Not a mention of his father. "You've seen plenty of families hanging up old umbrellas, right?"

His slight nod urges her to continue.

"I've always liked this umbrella," she reveals, spinning the sky blue parasol in her delicate but calloused fingers. "It's so bright, isn't it? You only carry those dark ones now, like everyone else."

He stirs the saucepan of soup with a silver ladle, watching his mother at the kitchen table with her needle and threat.

"Maybe someday I'll change this name," says his mother. She runs her fingers along the work she's done so far. "A girl? A boy? Who knows. What color hair? What color eyes? I think this blue will go with anything."

"Mother," he finally says, exasperated.

"I can daydream, can't I? Don't you make that face at me." She beams through her admonishing. She reads the weary drop of his shoulders and his uncomfortable shift of weight from foot to foot with a wry chuckle. "Don't be ridiculous? No, I'm not ridiculous at all. I told you, it's a daydream."

He glances over at her pointedly.

"I can hope, right?" Another careful character embroidered. "I would like a girl. Maybe twins? Then I could have both."

"_Mother_."

"All right, gloomy boy," she relents, smiling from ear to ear. "We'll save it for another rainy day."

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

He was startled by the hand that clamped down almost viciously on his forearm. Tsukuyo whipped him around with such unexpected force that he was momentarily stunned. As if Earth had cast a sluggish, sedative spell on him, Zenshi struggled through the hodgepodge of heat, fatigue, and surprise.

"Where d'ya think yer goin'?" came the heavily accented accusation. The glower of her lilac eyes forced him into inadvertent submission. Privately, he snarled at her manipulation of his bewilderment.

"Don't you have a luncheon to attend?" He addressed flatly, devoid of any emotion, never once allowing his apprehension to cross his features.

"I do."

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you."

From afar, the group waiting for Tsukuyo's company could feel her self-control snapping. The two males instinctively shied away; they would not want to be the target of Tsukuyo's fist.

The tension was palpable. For a moment, Zenshi considered turning away, but realized that in that moment, he did not dare; whether he wished to refrain from hurting her, offending her, or disrespecting her, he was not sure. Most likely, an awful mixture of all three, as well as his own pride. He refused to let her come after him, even if he'd abandoned her without a word.

She didn't say a thing.

She never allowed any expression to cross her face, but he saw it. He saw, in the paleness of her old scars and the swimming remorse in her eyes, so painfully reflected in his own, that she was confused.

And he would let her be.

That is, until he realized that his face was stinging, the world was spinning, and the clap of her hand against his face was but a delayed echo in the train station, harsh and jarring.

* * *

><p>I had the urge to put Zenshi in potentially awkward situations.<p>

And there it is.

Tell me what you think. This was hard to write.

You know, this is hard to read. If anyone actually makes it this far, leave a review and I will shower you in figurative Olympic Golds.

The little Russian girl, the 15-year-old, she's a boss.

And so is Yuzuru Hanyu and his Winnie the Pooh tissue box.

That _triple toe loop _tho. So GRACEFUL. And such personality...


	34. - Thirty-Four -

Difficult to write + little time + broken keyboard = noooo!

DEAR GUEST: Thank you for being such a lovely reviewer! I'm thrilled you like Zenshi so much! I'm working on uploading my drawings of him to deviantART and drawing more scenes from this story!

**Disclaimer: eh? Yato? Whazzat? -Sakamoto Tatsuma- (Hideaki Sorachi)**

Now, we're off to continueeeee...after meeting the best mom and a bitch slappin' Tsukki...

(this was so hard to write OTL)

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 34 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

He never let go of the suitcases; his fists were clenched, nails biting into his palms. The group had gone silent, and Tsukuyo was staring at him, eyes boring into him like sharp edges of amethysts, searing hues of impassive violets and lavenders into his core.

A bubble of anger surged within him, to his surprise. His temper, which usually held steady, was triggered unconsciously by the unfamiliarity of the blow, the simple act of insubordination causing him to bristle inadvertently. With the Harusame, he'd tolerated the pugnacious attitude of the ever-lively Mei, but had made apparent that there was a limit. Mei, of course, knew him well enough. Sure, she had her quirks and her typical way of irritating him, but he mouthing off never constituted into physical contact. More often than not, it was Zenshi stomping on her toe to get her to shut up, elbowing her or glaring her into submission.

But here, here was this woman, standing before him with an impeccable glower plastered onto her porcelain features, only marred by the two scars aligned in perpendicular fashion. Here was a hodgepodge of emotions and a henna of rages and furies and confusions and mystifications. She withdrew her hand without furtiveness or shame, as if to galvanize the fact that _yes_, she had just struck him across the face, and hard.

Yet she was untouchable.

He did not utter a word, did not even move a single muscle.

They exchanged a long glance without communication.

"Tsuk—"

Someone wisely cut Kagura off, and the group sidled away, giving the two a wide girth.

"Where," Tsukuyo said again, "d'ya think yer goin'?"

His eyes were hard ice, then, a stormy blue like none other she'd seen before. Tsukuyo knew full well that he was far from happy with her; in fact, he looked less composed than when he'd fought those Harusame with her.

Zenshi smiled, tightly and bitterly.

"I don't suppose you have an extra seat in the restaurant, do you?"

She had won. Her intention had been to reel him in, whatever the circumstances. If she couldn't have her conversation now, she'd have it later.

But he wasn't running, not now.

He was angry? Well _she_ was angry, too. And that was something she would not excuse him for.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

His Yato classmates revere him in partial awe and partial fright. The rest of the class stares, because he has just ascertained his position as strongest Amanto in the entire school. He doesn't particularly care, supposing that his neutral stance on just about everything would make for peaceful living. His father seems to pick up on this by the nonverbal cues the student body gives on Visiting Day. The fact that such a big name is on campus has the school roaring — when many discover who his child is, they both leap and recoil.

Linter tells him things like, "You need to cut your hair," or "This suit is atrocious," or "Don't _slouch_, my boy," and Zenshi complies with conditioned habit to his father's more direct demands. The school's superintendent and principal are simply _gushing_, and they disgust him just as much as all those foreign princes and dames do.

He fingers his braid as he spots Mei out of the corner of his eye.

No, he realizes it's not Mei — this woman is a good few inches taller. He can tell from a distance that this Yato carries herself with a certain air that Mei lacks, or rather, could care less to have, and sports those bright carroty locks only to the small of her back. When Zenshi does happen to spot his noisy companion, it is at the side of her parents, accompanied by the mysteriously similar woman, whom he deduces to be her renowned sister. Mei's sister, Aina, is a fairly popular intergalactic celebrity. Zenshi wouldn't be surprised if he turned on the TV and saw Aina in anything from a shampoo commercial to a blockbuster hit film.

Mei doesn't exactly loathe her sister, but resents her presence.

"I _love_ your hair," Aina says, as they draw closer. She speaks with a slight clip to her voice, and Zenshi picks out a slight Earthling accent. Earth is, after all, known for a great film industry, especially in the western hemisphere. Aina certainly fits the bill for "Earthling Movie Star".

"I'm gonna chop it off when I graduate," declares Mei with vicious conviction. "And dye it a different color."

The facial similarities between the sisters are so apparent and so shocking that Zenshi finds himself subtly trying to hide his bewildered exchanges between studying his boisterous friend and her model-like sister. In fact, he becomes almost confused because their eyes and nose are so similar. The only thing differentiating them is probably Aina's practiced smile and Mei's unabashed grimace.

"Don't be ridiculous," Aina chirps. Mei looks like she wants to rip her sister's head off, and that is without exaggerating. When her sister glances in Zenshi's direction and lights up, the absolute transformation of Mei's expression into dread and horror is almost amusing. "Isn't that _Zenshi_, Linter's son? Is he in your grade? Do you know him? The Yato all live in the same dorms, right? Or have they changed it since I've been here? My, he is a real looker, isn't—"

"No, that boy is the scariest shit you will find in this school," Mei cut in promptly, sufficing half a gag at her sister's last statement.

"Mei, your language," their mother mildly admonishes.

"I'm serious," Mei cries.

Zenshi pointedly looks away, and he can feel her silent spluttering.

"Do you know him, then?" continues Aina, her furtive curiosity revealing itself. She obviously has sisterly intentions in mind, seeing as she is boundlessly interested in any attractive male that passes, immediately suggesting something apparently appalling (to Mei, at least). Some must be horrible innuendoes because if Mei is any color, she's closest to green.

"I do," she finally admits, almost grudgingly, defensively. "Why?"

"Do you _know_, know him?" the elder sister goads with a wiggle of her finely shaped brows.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" snaps Mei with a cheeky imitation of Aina's accent.

"Well, you know," Aina hums vaguely, smiling sweetly. "I was just curious to see if my sister had gotten any…_action_."

Mei's green face turns greener, and when Zenshi actually snickers out loud, her spinach-like hue completely drains and she is left with one of mercurial horror and disgust and probably rage.

"Well, whatever the case," Aina continues, "you should introduce him to your family, right? We'd like to know about your friends. Last time, you just sulked in the cafeteria and we didn't meet anyone except…what's her name, Kogami?"

"Kougi," snarls Mei.

"Right, Kougi."

The family waits expectantly, eyes centered on Mei because she has hunched into herself, not exactly red in the face but more like ominously pale. Her porcelain Yato skin only amplifies the effect; her eyes appear sunken in and she looks devilish. To put it simply, Mei looks like she wants to kill something.

And so, none of them realize when Zenshi silently strides up to the Yato folk and offers his hand.

"You must be Mei's parents," he greets with such gallant warmth and chivalry that both mother and father of the tangerine-headed Mei are delighted and charmed. He has never quite liked this skin, the skin that Linter had passed onto him, and is rather dismayed to find that he is completely comfortable in it nonetheless, but he's quite good with first impressions and uses his skill to its fullest extent. "I'm her classmate, Zenshi."

The boy with midnight hair turns graciously to Mei's mother after shaking the hand of Mei's reverent father.

"I see where Mei gets her beautiful hair," he says with jovial grace. Mei gags, and he flashes a dead look so sardonic that she returns to her green state. His face morphs immediately back into his moderate but appealing smile, and he greets Aina with a momentous flash of handsome nobleness. "And you must be the star."

He's struggling now, and Mei can tell. Zenshi, never one for words, is evidently suppressing his inimical desire to just shut up. The only thing going for him is the fact that he can humiliate Mei; currently, their ongoing clashes have been tied, and if Mei can dye his uniform pink then he can return the favor and embarrass her by simply talking to her family.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," gushes Aina. She places her hand delicately in Zenshi's own when he offers, and he kneels genteelly to place the lightest of gentleman's kisses on her knuckles. She is malleable, charmed. Mei gags again.

"The pleasure is all mine," Zenshi returns.

_I'm going to kill you,_ Mei mouths. He is all but horrified, and flashes her an inscrutable smile that she loathes at that moment with her entire being.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

There was awkward silence within the energetic animation of the women and their tagalong male companions. Shinpachi offered him a wan smile, but was miffed when Tsukuyo caught him and sent him spiraling into depths of self-contained stiffness.

He watched Kagura wolf down platter after platter of barbecued meat; his stomach growled, but was determined to see his silence through. Tsukuyo cast him resentful glances from time to time, but he never quite reciprocated — he was, simply and secretly, comforted by the fact that she seemed relieved.

Though she'd never tell him, and he'd never tell her he saw.

* * *

><p>hoW.<p>

A/N: my keyboard is sticky and gross and aHHHHHHH.

(sticky as in the keys are not pressing down all the way and it's annoying me...maybe because I ate a box of cookies nearby hehehe)


	35. - Thirty-Five -

Need endless updates? I GOT YOU COVERED!

Need sleepless nights? I GOT YOU COVERED!

Need Valentine's Day chocolate? I DON'T GOT YOU COVERED _because it's all mine_.

Happy Valentine's Day, folks! A chapter just for you!

(Dear **Risa9559**, thank you again for such a kind review! I'm thrilled you like it! GET SOME SLEEP, EAT SOME CHOCOLATE, HAVE A GOOD WEEKEND, HERE'S A CHAPTERRRR!)

**note: **so parents' day is a thing at Ocentisa

**note 2: **gosh I need to draw this. I _did_, however, draw Zenshi and Tsukuyo at a ball. :D

**DISCLAIMER: "Don't give me love, just give me chocolate! I WANT CHOCOLATEEE!" - Sakata Gintoki - (c)Sorachi Hideaki**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 35 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"I say," Gintoki announced with as much gallantry as he could muster, "we go bowling."

Under Tsukuyo's oppressive gaze, Kagura's insatiable hunger, Sa-chan's intemperate obsession, the eye patch girl's subtle irritation, and the brunette's somewhat evil smile, even Zenshi could appreciate Gin's boldness. All three males in the party had eaten very little, never daring to cross utensils with the ladies without receiving misanthropic glares.

"Why, Gin-san," chimed the brunette, "that's actually a great idea!"

A sigh of relief among the two men and the pair of eyeglasses.

The entire meal, Gin had been chancing cheeky comments here and there, as was his nature. With an odd sensation of discomfort, Zenshi found that he was inexplicably perturbed by Tsukuyo's gradual relaxation. Her tension turned to mollified smiles, mostly when Gin cracked another joke (usually ending up at the mercy of the violent brunette at the other end). She was precariously comfortable around the silver-haired samurai, breaking into arbitrary blushes that colored her cheeks a thorough pink. Zenshi was deterred from conversation. However, despite the strange soreness in mood, he discarded the sour feelings and began thinking up an escape.

Tsukuyo glared at Zenshi, who had been running through multiple scenarios of his subtle get away. He wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon.

Unless, that is, Tsukuyo decided to split from the group.

To his relief, that's exactly what she suggested.

"I promised Seita I'd bring'im bowlin' up above the city, so we'll come next time," she clarified when the group began to drift in the opposite direction.

"Then go get him. We'll wait, yes?" suggested Kagura. Tsukuyo politely declined, and her adamant use of _we_ made apparent the nearly-forgotten issue of Zenshi. The tall Yato refused to hide beneath his umbrella. Instead, he stood with the parasol jauntily cocked against his shoulder, his chin jutting out almost rebelliously. He felt like a child, but grudgingly accepted that that was simply the niche he'd been reduced to around Tsukuyo. She held a certain power over him; he felt indebted, and could not defy her.

Gin made a face, and it was so suggestive that Shinpachi grabbed the older man and began to dramatically sob that he didn't want to die by Tsukuyo's hands. Luckily, most did not see, though the brunette — whom Zenshi learned to be the older sister of the plain boy, named Otae — produced such an ominously sweet grin that Gin balked from his cheekiness.

"Well?" Tsukuyo prompted, once the group had meandered away to the bowling alley.

"Well?" Zenshi parroted, lonesome.

"You can start," she said, "by tellin' me where ya went."

"To the Planet Pheromones, visiting my mother, the queen," he quipped. She appeared tempted to slap him again, but for now, a smile would suffice.

* * *

><p><strong>.: THREE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Petty Officer Jenhao is a mild man, in his mid-thirties, who typically runs the ship's daily business with disciplined efficiency and endless patience. He is Ensign Delong's right hand man, and while Delong is of higher rank than Mei, he and Mei both report directly to their lieutenant, Zenshi. Before the younger Yato's promotion, the ensign had been in charge of Tabs, Mei, Jenhao, and all of the younger ship technicians. He is a few years older than Jenhao, but the two are common companions and hometown friends. On a regular basis, Zenshi will request the two of them to complete the more difficult diplomatic preliminary negotiations for him, while Mei handles the paperwork and Tabs the schedules and arrangements.

To say the least, Zenshi has grown fond of his little squad, which includes all of the mentioned as well as the pensive Maolin, the younger brother of one of the technicians and an officious computer boy himself, and the peevish Jinlin, the pale older woman who usually accompanies Mei to make sure the piquant little petty officer doesn't run into trouble with other higher-ups. Though they report with their ranks in mind, the fact they are the lieutenant's team make them a tad more prestigious than the rest. Some of the older Yato are resentful, uneasy of the youthful composition of leaders in their midst. Even Abuto is considered young to some of the wizened, white-haired Yato; it one day dawns upon Zenshi that his father figure was hardly a father at all, but more likely to be an exasperated older brother. Even so, the majority of youth is due to the fact that in this business, only the young and full of verve will survive in the pirates' cutthroat society.

"Lieutenant," Jenhao says in his soothing tone, "Lieutenant, we've returned."

Among the five other petty officers, Jenhao is the most prominent leader, despite not being Zenshi's right hand aide. He is accommodating and doting, a trait that defines him as a father of a little boy and, as far as they have all heard so far, a possible second, hopefully a daughter.

In fact, Jenhao is probably a parent to all. He's got a horribly soft side, but because he's not a direct aide to Kamui, he's never scolded for it. As he jostles the lieutenant lightly from his snooze, he smiles.

"It's a long report, sir. I'd suggest you start now." He lays the documents on the table, accepting Zenshi's pervasive, sluggish glance. "I certainly hope Mei didn't give you that chamomile. It's a very strong brew I made today. It was supposed to help Jinlin sleep, but I guess it works for you more than for her."

Zenshi has long since forgotten how Jenhao and Jinlin are related. Cousins, maybe? He is sleepy and fatigued, and he appreciates the patience. It's almost as if when Zenshi runs out of patience, Jenhao is there with infinitely as much, sitting at the end of the table with a cup of warm tea or even hot chocolate, looking wistfully at his squad members as if he remembers they aren't exactly his family.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

She wasn't exactly the mothering type, and she wasn't at all acquainted with coddling. Zenshi never expected her to be.

But even so, when she sat him down quietly at a moderately populated little café, her lenient silence made him wary. The blonde courtesan ordered her coffee — a sweet, milky latte, to his surprise — before returning to their stymied situation.

"What's in the suitcases?" she addressed immediately. Zenshi knew her goal — it was to find out why he'd left, where he'd gone, and most likely guilt him in apology. She was hurt, and he fully understood that. Of course, Tsukuyo wasn't the type to convey her feelings without some slight retribution from the other side.

"Treasures from my home, Planet Pheromones." So he got snarky with her. She glared.

"Enough," Tsukuyo snapped briskly. "Yer gonna spit out everythin'."

"And why should I?" Defensive now, Zenshi guarded his reasons with care. He felt a stigmatized guilt, as if he was tempted to tell her. It was enigmatic; strangely enough, he felt comforted by the thought of spilling the situation. But that would do more harm than help, so he rescinded those intentions.

"Question nineteen," Tsukuyo asserted confidently. Her tone was amused, but her face and her eyes were everything but. "What's in the suitcases?"

_Fair game_, the Yato decided, acknowledging her recalcitrance in disguise.

"I'll answer," he contended, "but you'll have to answer my question nineteen first."

"Why should I—"

"Do you want to know, or not? I'll tell you more than you asked if you answer me first." It was a spike in his comfort zone, telling her the wholesome truth. He didn't want to reveal anything, yet felt as if he was betraying her if he didn't. Zenshi washed over the sentiment with his usual glazed indifference — the same façade he'd mustered when he left his mother alone, when he pretended he didn't leave his squad behind, when he killed that man with the knife, when he hurt anyone — and a breath of plaintive sorrow.

There was an ornate spear of guilt that pulsated beneath his sternum, down his throat, when he looked at her. This courtesan with the light, straw-colored hair and lavender eyes that shone amethyst within her smile. This woman of grace and strength and chivalrous ideals — at times, slightly violent and little more than fearsome sarcasm and wit, but beautiful nonetheless.

In her maple-leaf kimono, sweeping the floor like the breeze of looming autumn.

She paused.

"Ask away," she came forth, hesitantly. She sipped her coffee.

"Why do you want to know so badly?" he asked, then, seriously. Instinctively, his right hand found the hilt of his umbrella, as if to steady himself. Despite being seated, the suddenness of the almost anxious flush on her face was dizzying.

"I just do," she replied nearly inaudibly. Her shy, lowered tone was both forward yet magnetic.

"You'll have to give me a better answer than that."

She looked up from her coffee.

"I just _do_."

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, FIVE MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

Tabs swallows hard when he looks over the technician's shoulder. The camera is fixed, and he subtly returns to his usual quibbling, his typical soliloquies about the strange reports that he was to give, the particularly long announcements for the day.

But he has seen what he has seen, and now that Kamui has approached the large screen, where the footage is being projected, Tabs is afraid.

The Yato blood, which courses through his veins like every other, trembles because he has tendency to believe he has thin inheritance, thin blood thirst. And now, as the center screen in the bridge of the ship displays a blurred figure dashing through the halls, he fights the urge to look away because now _everyone_ has their eyes riveted to the moving image.

Kamui's expression is one part delight, one part murder, one part everything, and one part nothing.

"Would you look at that," he murmurs, with a speculative awe. "Look who it is."

There is only a flash of a face, but the one camera that manages to catch it does it with enough resolution to reveal an identity.

The man that throws himself to his feet after the ship lurches in the video is none other than their Lieutenant Zenshi.

Tabs cannot swallow the bile that rises in his throat like the tide of tsunami, brutally conscious and merciless in the fear it carries.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

Her hands flew to her coffee cup as if they'd offer her refuge, safety.

She was conflicted.

He had his answer, yet he yearned to hear more. The practical lieutenant lying nearly dormant within him voiced a stilted protest: _You don't need bonds_, an arcane voice assuaged convincingly. _No more bonds_.

Yet he had made so many that he fell immobile in the middle of a web, tangled in sticky threads, from his home to his ship to this peculiar planet Earth, where the blonde courtesan in the maple leaf kimono strummed a lulling tone until he succumbed to suffocating immobility.

* * *

><p>YUZURU HANYU TAKES THE GOLD<p>

I am ECSTATIC!

A lil sad that Plushenko's retired, but he gave a lot to the sport!

but hanYU

omg.

Also: USA TAKES SKIING SLOPESTYLE BY STORM

SWEEPS THE PODIUM

*pride*

Anyone watching the Olympics?


	36. - Thirty-Six -

Sometimes I write a chapter, and it's hard, but sometimes parts of it just _come_ rather easily.

Welp. Here ya go!

**Disclaimer: Sorachi. No words needed.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 36 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Yer a pain," was all she managed to splutter when he waited patiently for the rest of his answer.

"I'm sorry, did you say that I was a prince? Because I am. The Prince of Planet Pheromones." He was tempted to steal her coffee and sip pretentiously from it, but held his sudden, strange notions in check. Inwardly, he was almost appalled at his atypical talkativeness and boldly familiar tone.

"That's not even the same word," Tsukuyo spat.

"Question nineteen, Ms. Tsukuyo," he prompted.

"I _told_ you," she enunciated through gritted teeth. "I just _want_ you to—"

She cut herself off with a strangled, incomprehensible jumble of mutterings, looking abashed. The expression erased itself within moments, and Tsukuyo reverted to her disconcerted glare. Amused, Zenshi folded his hands on the table.

"You want me to…?"

"Tell me why ya disappeared, and what's in the suitcase," she completed.

"_Yer talkin' in circles_," he countered, with brazen effrontery. The flush on her face reappeared when she recognized the accent, so terribly inconsistent with his demeanor and appearance.

"Ya shouldn't be talkin' like that," she said. "It's not, um, proper."

"I'm sorry, were you addressing yourself?" He enjoyed the exchange through her difficultness.

"Rude," she snorted presumptuously.

"Hardly."

"Very."

"Very what?"

"Rude."

"You mean you are?"

"No, I'm—" Tsukuyo sighed dramatically, rocking backward in her chair. Blowing air through her lips exasperatedly, the blonde rearranged her glare into a dour pout.

No, not a pout, but a cynical frown laced with subtle misanthropy.

"Question nineteen," Zenshi repeated. And waited.

"What's in the suitcase?" she demanded. "And the letters. Don't try and hide'em. What's in those?"

"What's in _your_ letter?"

He smiled then, knowingly. It had the desired effect, because she was startled.

_Question twenty_.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, FIVE MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

"Do you have the key to the aft deck on deck five?"

"I don't." Tabs swallows. "Not now, please. I have to make an announcement."

Mei is exasperated because Tabs is a boy in a man's body, a man's face. He is nervous and jittery and skittish.

"Who has the key?"

"Abuto."

"Check your room, darling," whistles the vice-captain nonchalantly. Kamui is not in the room. Most of their squad is not in the room.

And all the rest of the occupants have pensively deliberate, shrewd silence sewn across their lips.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

She fingers the little umbrella, adorned with her embroidery, hanging listlessly on the wall.

"When he comes home, you'll be filled with pictures, won't you?" she inquires to no one in particular. Her son's name sits on a lonely silk panel, on one rim of the parasol. It's a tiny little tool, just as long as her arm.

The clock, which she believes reads midnight, strikes three. Startled, she is roused from her position, wandering aimlessly until she reaches the dark spot before the door where her son had lingered three hours ago.

And now, he's in the night, the moon's worshipper, the lone wolf who preys on nothing and everything, wandering neither forward or back, up or down, left or right. He has the eyes, but the rest of him melds into black like the curtain of starless nights.

"When he comes home," she tries again. But he won't, and her husband won't, and she is suddenly old and tired and alone, wondering when it was that the doting son and loving spouse had slipped from her grasp.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"How did—"

One hand instinctively flew to her waist, where the envelope was thinly concealed behind the silk belt of her kimono. Zenshi didn't answer; he'd seen the envelope only today, but had noticed her stiff approach whenever he rounded her left side.

"This's just information from Sarutobi," she hurriedly supplied, defensive.

"Oya?" he hummed. His intrigue clearly unsettled her, but she gave him little room to prod.

"About Sciuttla." An apprehensive swallow.

He didn't consider this a complete answer, so he held out his hand. Tsukuyo refused.

"It's nothin' ya don't know," she protested.

"Then there's no harm in showing me."

She wouldn't hand it over.

"It's not about Sciuttla, is it." His uncharacteristic affability was dimming, and a thin concern rippled across his expression.

"What's in the suitcases?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"_What's in the suitcases_?"

"What's in your letter?"

"We're gettin' nowhere," she spat acerbically, pushing away from the table and rising to her feet. The click of her heels was sharp and agitated. The blonde walked a terse circle before coming back to glare at him. Her gaze flickered down to her coffee, suddenly in distaste.

"If you're going to tell me to finish that, I won't."

"Ya never looked like a coffee person," she offered in a fume.

"Letter."

"Suitcases."

Simultaneously, as he slid one suitcase across the table, she slammed the envelope down with vehement force. They exchanged.

Tsukuyo unclipped the suitcase's buckles and flipped up the lid. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat in daunted, baffled shock. Zenshi slid his finger beneath the envelope's cover and extracted the documents slowly. Meanwhile, the courtesan scanned the contents of the luggage before quietly pushing it shut.

"Why…" she trailed off, uncertain.

But Zenshi wasn't listening.

Instead of a document, he found a news article, slightly battered but still intact with the full issue.

The front page headline:

_Harusame kills Yato woman in Sciuttlan-related endeavors. The war of the ages looms over the galaxies!_

And beneath the bolded text, a dark grayscale image printed in thin ink on the textured newsprint: the obituary of his aunt.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWENTY YEARS AGO :.<strong>

She has always been simply "Auntie" to him. Her full name, he knows, means something along the lines of "weeping willow," but he never inquires. He's simply Auntie, the kind woman whose resemblance to his own mother is stunning. She has the same heart-shaped face and the same simple brown hair, but her eyes are a lighter shade, more hazel-chestnut, more reflective of a sea he has never seen.

"And you can do them one way," she says then, displaying to him the sutures on the patient's arm. "Or you can loop under and pull."

His aunt does the stitches with practiced ease, the lines on her face accentuating her concentration. She has a daughter who is about four years old now, but she is in the custody of the husband, the father. They are divorced, but do not carry a negative relationship. Simply speaking, Auntie could not handle the rigors of his job: a space entrepreneur, if one should accept the euphemism. His work was dangerous, and yet he kept their daughter, as if to have her succeed him. Auntie never says the word "pirates" because it's a poisonous word, a killing word.

Zenshi knows that Auntie suffers. She's constantly lonely, depressed, with a downcast expression molded onto her features. What he recalls of his cousin is brief, but she is a bright girl with the same brown hair from their maternal side. He cannot imagine being away from his own mother — he has followed his father around enough to know that both sides must face either homesickness or complex sorrow.

"In most of us, there is an important artery here." Auntie gestures to a part of the patient's shoulder. A Yato specimen is easy to demonstrate on; every now and then, a bizarre Amanto will walk in and Auntie will teach to Zenshi the different anatomical structures and the different types of wounds. From shelled creatures to incongruous blobs of life forms, Zenshi studies diligently. When he is not shadowing his father, attending the local temple school, spending quiet dinners with his mother, or running errands to the sick madam down the street, he is learning the art of medicine.

Auntie always has this forlorn expression, as if she enjoys his company yet laments the fact that she is not teaching her daughter. The village's most trusted nurse, midwife, and doctor — she is the weeping willow of remedial spirits.

"And see how this area has bruised?" she continues. She usually never mentions the fact that another Yato has done this gruesome work, never acknowledges the angry Yato blood that takes advantage of this knowledge. In this way, Auntie is truly Zenshi's aunt. His maternal family tree heralds a peaceful reputation that even his father, the rather pacifistic Linter, cannot compete with.

"What's that?" asks the boy. He points to a silver shard embedded in the unconscious Yato's flesh.

"Shrapnel," Auntie says. "Whoever brought him in was wise to leave it. If he pulled it out, this man probably would have bled to death."

"He bled a lot anyway."

"That's right. But we Yato tend to close our wounds and clot our blood must quicker than, say, humans."

"Humans? From Earth?"

"Yes. What would break their arms would leave bruises on ours."

"Are they weak?"

Auntie casts him a fond smile.

"I wouldn't say so. Just different. All races are strong in their own ways."

He falls back to the patient lying prone on the table, supine and taking shuddering breathes through an oxygen mask.

"How did he get the shrapnel in him?" In fact, there are metal fragments all over the place, sticking from his shoulder, from his torso, between his ribs. The sight is gory, and Auntie's work is elaborately slow.

"A bomb, I'd say. Bombs made with scrap shards will shoot shrapnel like this," she offers him simply. He doesn't inquire the origins of such a terroristic idea, but only considers the extent of damage.

"It looks painful," he replies. Auntie smiles at his child's mind, simple and straightforward.

"Certainly." Her methods are efficient, so much so that Zenshi can even see the man's wounds closing, the skin cells binding with slow agony between the stitches.

He watches as she cleans up the patient, wound by wound, piece by piece, inch by inch.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

The date was from nearly two years ago.

_A bomb, allegedly marked with the Harusame's 8th Squad's signature, detonates in a large presentation hall where equal rights advocates had begun their conference. Leading figure Shidare Chuiliu, amongst many colleages and cofounders, is among the victims. Investigators began their search beneath the rubble of the disaster…_

Zenshi looked up.

"Why do you have this?" he asked, forcing the strangled despair from his voice.

"That's more than twenty questions," Tsukuyo replied. It wasn't the only thing in the envelope, but he suddenly did not want to see the rest of it.

"The money is for travel expenses to Sciuttla. Most of it will be for the evacuation of orphanages and local relief shelters to various planets, including Earth. Those are the orders, and I'm supposed to carry them out. Don't ask me who issued the order, because I don't know." He pushed the papers back to her. "Are we done?" he finished, in half a croak.

An expression of partial awe and partial concern flashed briefly across her scarred face.

"I s'ppose."

She sat back down, hands wrapped around her coffee, watching him stare at nothing except the hand that trembles against his right eye, fingering the old scars in ragged stitches, brimming with untold pain and remorse.

* * *

><p>1. Tsukuyo and Zen are a train wreck waiting to happen, lol<p>

2. LET'S PLAY A GAME! **WHAT DID I JUST ALLUDE TO?**

**story question: ****_what does the news story connect to?_**

**series question: ****_which character...have I tied back to Zenshi?_**

(hint: the story question is one you'll find in text, and the series question [[about Gintama]] is one you'll find will explain a few interactions)


	37. - Thirty-Seven -

OHO! Two chappies up because I'm a master procrastinator.

**Disclaimer: All is Sorachi's.**

**Note: **There's as part with Asian-styled hats that I'm not sure of. One is the _amigasa_, which Gin says Mutsu wears, but I googled a few images and it didn't really look quite right. The next is the _takuhatsugasa_, but that wasn't quite right either. That was the type that Oboro's Naraku wore (the same one Gin and the crew donned in their counterattack, and the one that Takasugi wore in disguise as he infiltrated and killed Sadasada). And the last was one I looked up as well, a _sandogasa_, and it looked the most like what I wanted, so that's what I used. Sorry for any inaccuracy.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 37 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

He hadn't known. In all those years, there were things he hadn't known. He regretted deeply never returning home, not even briefly. The last time he saw a member of his family was the chance encounter with his father on the Harusame base — and even then, he fled like a coward.

He hadn't known.

And had he known, what could he have done?

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, FIVE MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

The ship is eerily quiet for a workday, and the footsteps that echo through the each deck resound with treason.

Silent, coordinated mutiny abounds with the eyes of wolves, glinting dangerously in the woods.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

Tsukuyo risked physical contact, and the light touch of her hand on his made him jump slightly.

"You okay?" she offered brusquely, unsure of what to make of the situation.

"Was that question twenty?" His halfhearted attempt to relieve the sudden clutch of tension slid short.

She shook her head. There was nothing but awkward silence to fill the gaps in conversation, and she started more than once with different intentions. Finally, her words curtailed by distress, she stood.

"C'mon," she urged, her hand going for her pipe. "I can't smoke in here."

Zenshi picked up the suitcases sullenly, but squared his shoulders and followed her out. She never had to reiterate that he was welcome to stay again — though it was implied that any departure would need a prior warning — but he was wary nonetheless. They trod in heavy wordlessness to the elevators that descended into Yoshiwara's depths. The sunset disappeared early over the rims of the city edges, and the ethereal red and orange lights that lined the buildings in festival-like fervor began flickering to life like the glows of fireflies.

Seita was ecstatic. Upon seeing the tall, morose Yato, he leapt to his feet with an in comprehensible exclamation and threw his arms around Zenshi.

"You're back!" he shouted, and from within the shop, a smiling Hinowa wheeled out to greet them. Zenshi, both hands occupied with suitcases, could only cast a cagey glance down at the boy, who released him and bounced about with endless energy. "Where have you _been_?! You missed so much!"

The boy and his mother had him seated, his suitcases sitting idly at his feet, as Seita began rattling off the events of the past few months. Zenshi could only listen, waiting patiently for Seita to backtrack in his stories because he rambled in no particular organization, and for Hinowa to clarify and Tsukuyo to occasionally correct.

He _had_ missed a lot, and it was almost appalling.

But at the same time, Umibouzu's words rang with a clarity that eclipsed his despair.

_I suggest you leave the Earthlings to their own._

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, TEN MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

He exits the cabin with light footsteps, but his mood is anything but. He despises the trafficking of persons, and is averse to any mention of it. Kamui knows that, and he deliberately touched on the subject just to irk him.

"_Hey_, Lieutenant!" sings a lighthearted voice from down the hall. He turns to see Mei and Tabs, waving enthusiastically. She jerks her thumb towards the window. He looks.

Asteroid belt.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"And Yoshiwara was literally in flames!" Seita shouted, only sitting back down when Hinowa shushed him with half a smile on her face. "You should've seen it! Actually, no, that's not a good idea. But Gin-san was amazing, and we were all cutting down the wires and we save Yoshiwara!"

Seita beamed, lost in his thoughts.

"And then Tsukuyo-nee went up to the surface and battled the Bakufu—"

Zenshi cast the woman in question a dubious glance, but recalled smoking government buildings at the end of the last month.

"—and the Shogun almost resigned!"

"If you're so good at remembering this stuff, can't you remember your history just as well? It's the same idea," Hinowa gently chided. Seita's expression dropped so abruptly to one of appalled revulsion that he pulled a slight smirk from his Yato companion.

"Just pretend all the warriors are Tsukuyo," he suggested. "And then you'll remember."

"But then I'll put Tsukuyo-nee's name on my tests, and I'll fail!"

"Then imagine her dressed up as different historical figures," Hinowa told him. "Wouldn't it be fun to learn history that way?"

Seita burst into laughter, eliciting a slight blush from Tsukuyo.

"No," answered Zenshi, "history with a few knives down your throat isn't all that fun."

She glared, but said nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, TEN MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

It's not much, but it's enough to lighten his mood.

"Now, don't say anything," Mei apprehends before he can add some witty comment about her failure to know the planets. "Because first of all, you're the only one that took an astronomy class, because I took a music class, and second of all, they have space jellyfish tongue in the galley."

Tabs is rocking back and forth on his heels at this news, and it pulls at their lieutenant's interest.

"I don't think the lieutenant is actually a Yato," Tabs jokes, demurely, "because he doesn't jump at the word of food."

"Don't be ridiculous," Mei carps with a snort. "This man can eat a wild Liuukese turkey without any qualms."

She is oddly proud of this fact — after all, wild Liuukese turkeys are the size of Earthling elephants, if not larger.

"I'm sure any Yato could eat that much," Tabs whispers.

"But no, he'll kill it and roast it and everything."

"That's the point, though. He has the _patience_ to actually cook it. I think our _Danchou_ would just stuff it down his throat raw."

Mei makes a face. "I once cleaned out the entire Ocentisa cafeteria, but I didn't eat any of it. I gave it to this guy." She elbows Zenshi, who ignores the hard jab in his side with a nonchalant grunt. "But I didn't eat any of it. I brought it to the hospital so he could have it. Aren't I such a nice girl?"

"What girl?" Tabs and Zenshi chime in unison. She splutters incredulously, feigning offense.

"But seriously, I haven't seen anyone eat that much since…since _me_!" Mei throws her hands up. "It's like he starved himself his entire life and suddenly, one day, he out of the blue wants to make up for all of it and eat the entire kitchen's worth of food!"

"I could eat a wild Liuukese turkey," Tabs interjects.

"No, this kitchen had more food than you can probably stuff twenty turkeys with," Mei justifies adamantly. She mouths _oh my god_ and throws a wide-eyed glance at her old classmate.

"I still think our _Danchou _could eat more."

"No, I think this guy eats more."

"Says the girl who actually singlehandedly slaughtered five hundred space jellies for her own ten course dessert one day," Zenshi plainly announces amidst the pointlessly spiraling conversation.

"You _what_?" asks Tabs.

"Hey, space jellyfish's tongue in the galley!" Mei arbitrarily hollers down one hall. Several crewmen visibly perk up, turning to her voice. They chatter excitedly, and before Tabs or Zenshi can pursue their current topic any further, they are drowned in a sea of eager, hungry Yato, and all they hear is Mei's laughter echoing down the hall.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

When Seita finally relented from his story — "I'll finish after dinner," he said boisterously — Zenshi retired to his room and set the suitcases against the wall. Tsukuyo had not touched a single thing, not even the futon, despite the fact that he left nothing behind and never modified the room in any way.

Footsteps, lacking grace and subtlety, along the roof's panels.

The shingles shifted slightly, producing a ceramic clack as a person — no, _two_ people — approached his window from the second floor awning.

Zenshi, lacking the energy and the mood to deal with any trouble, goaded himself into grabbing his umbrella and pointing the shaft of the rifle end at the opened shades.

"Hold on, hold on," came the slightly weedy but familiar voice. It was a voice he heard countless times over intercom, a voice expressed in hearty laughter and plenty of bad jokes. A voice that, despite the face it accompanied, never really matured at the same rate.

"Tabs." Zenshi's surprise registered rather clearly on his face, if only for a split second. The parasol was lowered, and his defensive stance slackened.

"Hey, Lieutenant." The other Yato laughed nervously, rubbing the thin stubble on his narrow chin and shifting from foot to foot. He wore a _sandogasa_, a woven, round straw hat that resembled the conical hat of a rice paddy farmer, only rounder and flatter, and oddly familiar. "Well, I guess you aren't the Lieutenant anymore, but I never really called you much else."

"You called me Blue at one point," Zenshi said flatly.

"I tried." Tabs shrugged. "Um, well. I have to, uh, tell you a thing, but first—"

"First he's got to make up his mind," cut in a second voice, belonging to the owner of the secondary set of footsteps Zenshi had heard earlier. He placed the recognition of the hat then; when Mutsu appeared before the window, taking off the round hat and slipping inside, he matched the origins.

"Oh hey, Mucchi," Tabs said nervously. "Didn't see you there."

"I was with you the entire time, you twat." Mutsu was never one for great patience, or great friendliness anyway. "I came ta tell you that your girlfriend's plannin' to leave at the end 'a this month."

Zenshi bristled. He didn't merit Mutsu with a satisfactory denial of her beginning statement, but let his insouciance slip into a scathing form of scorn.

"For Sciuttla?" he inquired tersely.

"Yeah."

Zenshi scrutinized her Tosa accent, which she explained she picked up from her foolhardily ignorant partner, Sakamoto Tatsuma. Besides that, she had delved into regions he was clearly uncomfortable with, but never blamed her. The time she appeared on the Harusame ship, she had expressed her dislike for pirates, and for the slave trade. No, he had never blamed her for that life.

But he wasn't sure if he didn't blame her for not telling.

"You knew," he said suddenly, the firm print of the news article in Tsukuyo's hidden envelope flashing with malicious brevity.

"I knew what?" she snapped. "Were you listenin'? If you don't want her to go to Sciuttla, you'd better do somethin'."

"You knew about the Harusame bombings."

She went silent, then. Tabs threw wary glances between the two of them, wringing his hands in excessive anxiety, more so than usual.

"I did," Mutsu affirmed. "It's terrible."

_That's it_?

"Those were, um, reports that the Harusame censored," Tabs ventured cautiously. "I think only Kamui and Abuto saw them. I might've peeked over their shoulders every now and then."

_Do you regret?_

"What was done was right. That meeting saved lives." Mutsu sighed. "It's not like we can do anythin' about it now. No use regretting."

"No use regretting," Zenshi echoed. That was, for him, true. And he supposed he'd let it stay that way.

"So are you gonna do anythin' about your—"

"_Not_ my girlfriend," Zenshi cut in sharply. "And I'll see what she has to say first."

Tabs was slightly amused, but kept his anxious smiles to a minimum. Wisely, he remained silent until Mutsu and Zenshi finished their wordless exchange, and then advanced his topic.

"Message from the new Lieutenant Mei," he announced, clearing his throat. "The Harusame will be conducting another 'check' of sorts on Edo, because they're still in town. Our traveling partners are finishing up their business, and we are too. I'd suggest you watch out for the fifth and seventh squads. They're on patrol. There's also an order to take your head if you're spotted."

"Thank you," Zenshi told the other man, "Tabs. I appreciate it."

He almost called his former crewmate by his title, but the words _Petty Officer_ didn't fit quite right on his tongue anymore, so he refrained. Tabs and Mutsu slipped out the window as they came, the former readjusting the round hat on his head and smiling briefly underneath its extensive shade. He had donned civilian Earthling apparel, with simple woven sandals and a flat jacket. He could disappear, just like that, yet he was inevitably going to return to the Harusame ship. Zenshi had wanted to ask about Kamui's new crown of admiral, but never got the chance to form his questions. He knew, however, where Tabs had acquired those clothes. More likely than not, Abuto had sent the gangly petty officer on a sort of reconnaissance, despite only seeing Zenshi earlier that day.

To his surprise, Zenshi realized that the young Yato had begun to fill out his frame. He had a mature but shy face, but his arms and legs had never quite fit him. He finally seemed to be growing into his form; he was quite tall, actually.

Mutsu abruptly turned before they left.

"Hey," she called, as Zenshi watched them from the corner of the window.

Zenshi nodded.

"I saw your mom when we visited for business," she began to explain. At this, Zenshi leaned out, curious. She continued, "She says hello. She told me to pick up a letter she sent to Earth and bring it to you, because she didn't know where you were."

"Thanks for that," he replied.

"You should consider writing back," Mutsu suggested. The way she pulled down her woven hat, however, was almost mournful. "It would really make her day. If you need, I'll take it to her. It's not like our stupid captain knows where he's goin' anyways."

Zenshi nodded, the final exchange of silence gravely passing between them, the lingering phrases at the edge of Mutsu's farewell hanging unsaid. He thanked her, and she headed off with Tabs against the current of Yoshiwara's night business. The influx of red-light district customers was a smooth wave against their upstream travel to the elevators.

_You should consider writing back_, she said.

And beneath it all, he read her intentions and her regrets with such full, intemperate sorrow that he was inclined to go down and ask Hinowa for pen and paper.

_Write back before it's too late to even tell her you're alive._

* * *

><p>Asteroid belt is now official running gag of this story.<p>

After the commercial break, and we're back to

**WHAT DID I JUST ALLUDE TO?!**

**story: **_Ehhh have you realized the identity of the "higher-up" mentioned in the "situation overview" of chapter 28?!_

**series: **_okay, maybe it's not clear, and maybe this last interaction was confusing, but have you connected anything in the last two chapters? *whispers "what have I done" into the distance*_


	38. - Thirty-Eight -

If you know the reference, _you'll know_.

In fact, you might laugh (I laughed while writing this)

or you might...burst into song.

Anyway.

**Disclaimer: Sorachi Hideaki is brilliant**

**Note: **Running gag number 2 is pancakes.

**Note: **Sort of a filler chapter, but pretty amusing, so I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 38 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"If I hear _Ocentisa, Ocentisa_ one more time, I will break something." Mei whips around and hisses, "I will break your leg."

"It's already broken," he deadpans with inundating tolerance. The painkilling drugs are soporific, and they mollify his usual lack of patience with the carrot-headed Mei. Zenshi is patient with all other things, but Mei he will stamp on and tell her to shut up within a moment's notice.

"Kougi," Mei says, "break his leg for me."

"It's already broken," sighs the canine girl, her fluffy cream-colored tail sweeping the back of her seat. "Besides that, I don't do violence."

"Yeah, you're the fluffy kind, I know." Mei rolls her eyes.

"Are you insinuating that I'm a fluff, or that I'm literally fluffy?" Kougi asks. "Because I _am_ literally fluffy."

"You two give me a headache," Zenshi openly complains. He rocks between ignoring the two girls to wondering why they are even there.

"The drugs have done a number on him," Mei explains with mock seriousness. She turns and asks him how his alcohol tolerance is. She expects no answer, but he simply smirks and replies:

"High."

Kougi bursts into yips, which is how she laughs, and one of the other roommates in the hospital tries to shush them, to no avail.

"Either you are high as shit or you're serious." Mei flopped on Zenshi's hospital bed, with no regard for his injuries. He doesn't even grimace, because he probably can't feel his legs. "Tell me which."

"I'm always serious."

"You're high," she whispers, eyes widening. For Zenshi, all he sees is a pool of electric orange spilling across his lap; he blinks a few times. Mei squeals and leaps away, grasping Kougi by the shoulders and showering the room with her bewitching laughter. "He's _high_, ohmigod."

"I think _you_ might be high," Kougi asserts with half a snort.

"Honestly, I think he's not even with us right now. You there, Zen? He_llo_?" Mei waves her hand in front of her companion's face. "Hey Mr. Blue, how do you do?"

"Kougi," calls Zenshi. "I think that bed is vacant." He gestures to the empty gurney swathed in fresh white sheets beside him.

"I'm not breaking any bones for you, either." Kougi harrumphs and folds her paws. "Though you _are_ a little more talkative than usual. You usually just give me _the look_."

"What look?" Zenshi chances a half frown.

"He's _high_," cries Mei, with delighted laughter.

"I'm sorry, could you please quiet down?" asks an octopus-like Amanto splayed ungracefully in his bed, across the room. "Some of us are trying to rest."

"It's noontime, it's lunchtime, there's no time to rest!" Mei exclaims.

"Mei," Kougi pleads, "please shut up."

"When there's food, there's no time for sleep!" Mei begins to hum their school anthem without even realizing that she had just claimed to break whoever dared sing it in front of her.

"Did you slip some of his meds?" asks Kougi incredulously. "Mei, I'm not kidding. You want me to report you?"

"Oh Kougi," laughs Mei, "you'd never betray me."

"You're crazy," Kougi barks, though her expression is friendly.

"_Ocentisa, Ocentisa_," Zenshi mutters under his breath. Mei whips around and drives her elbow down on his leg, but before she makes contact, Kougi has pounced on her and they're wrestling around the room, and the poor hospitalized students have to suffer amidst all the chaos because this shared room is full of crazy Yato. The only sane one is the Inuisei, and she can do little more than tussle with the orangette in vain.

When Mei is finally drained of all excess energy, she's spread-eagled across the floor in the middle of the room, Kougi kneeling beside her, both of them laughing.

"You have dust bunnies in your hair," laughs the dog-girl.

"I don't care, I'm chopping it off," shrieks the Yato.

"Parents' day is soon, I don't think they'd be happy if you cut it off," Kougi warns.

"I don't care, I don't care, I can't keep it long anymore," sings Mei, rocking to an upright position and leaping to her feet. She steals Zenshi's issued hospital blanket and swirls it around her shoulders extravagantly. "I don't care, _I don't care_, let the orange drop to the floor!"

She leans in close to the poor octopus-boy. He's got a humanoid face but strange suckers all along his arms and legs — all eight of them — and a nervous lip-biting tic.

"I don't care," Mei shouts, "what they're going to say."

"Are you sure about that?" Zenshi halfheartedly calls from across the way.

"Just _let_ them get angry," Mei exclaims.

"You're crazy," Kougi repeats, laughing.

Mei whips around, the white cape fluttering behind her with grandiose exaggeration. The octo-boy shrinks back, as do the rest of the patients as she rounds the room. Dramatically, she throws her long, coral hair over her shoulder, and it swishes powerfully behind her.

She throws defiant glares at any who protest.

"Their words never bothered me anyway."

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

The threshold of sleep was often elusive for him, but that night, he found that he could not determine when or how he fell asleep. In fact, he awoke beside the windowsill, laying on his side with one arm crushed beneath his torso, partially numb. It was as if he'd been sitting in an upright position, and someone had tilted him over so that he could rest with more comfort.

He wasn't all that surprised to find that someone had entered and draped the futon blanket over him. In doing so, a faint tobacco odor trailed behind, and he was rather miffed that he no longer reacted as much when Tsukuyo entered and exited.

Pushing himself off the floor, Zenshi groggily checked the time in the little flat clock hung on the wall. It was nearly 8 o'clock, but the sun was not as potent that day. He was grateful that his window pointed west, so that the sun had not been beating down on him as he slept.

A knock at the door alerted him to a new presence. Again, he was unsettled that his sensory skills had dulled considerably.

"Hey," came Seita's voice, quietly. "You awake?"

"Come on in," Zenshi told him. Seita threw open the door a little too vigorously, and the sliding panels clattered ominously.

"Um," said the boy.

"Um," repeated Zenshi dryly.

"You wanna have some pancakes?" the boy asked, before hesitating. "It doesn't have to be a pancake."

Zenshi got to his feet, straightening the clothes he'd fallen asleep in, and running a hand through his hair. He guessed that he looked like a mess, but that wasn't a big deal.

"Pancakes sound fine," he assured the boy, who beamed.

As they descended into the front parlor, Tsukuyo's audible, incredibly amused snort made Zenshi hesitate. Hinowa had prepared tea, jam, toast, and pancakes because Seita requested. When she swiveled around in her chair, a grin split from ear to ear, and she couldn't hold back a delighted laugh.

Zenshi browsed their expressions apprehensively.

"Yer hair," Tsukuyo managed, taking a slow drag on her pipe to conceal her laughter.

"Seita," Zenshi deadpanned, "is there something I need to know?"

The mousy little boy giggled nervously behind his hands. Zenshi's hair was, in fact, lopsidedly spiked on one side, and he looked so bedraggled that when he sighed loudly, everyone burst into fits of laughter.

"You have worse bed head than I do!" Seita exclaimed, barely in control of his hysteria.

"No, I don't think so," Hinowa admonished. "I still think you're the messiest. You should see Seita when he oversleeps."

The former top courtesan of Yoshiwara shared a comical glance with Tsukuyo and gestured for Zenshi to sit.

"I think," Zenshi announced in his low, wearisome tone, "I'll be taking all of those pancakes. None for you, Seita."

And the look of horror that so mawkishly flashed across the boy's eyes was funnier than all of Zenshi's bad hair days combined.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FIVE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"This is disgusting," Tabs whispers. Nonetheless, Abuto slides a cup of green slush over to the whimpering boy.

"It's not that bad, kid," the vice-captain mediates. "It's just celery, spinach, and cucumbers thrown into a smoothie."

"That's no smoothie I've ever seen," Tabs mutters.

"It's good for you."

"It's gonna kill me."

"You're deficient in vitamins, and you almost didn't pass the last evaluation." Abuto flips through a few of Tabs's health documents, with Mei and Zenshi very casually peeking over his shoulders. "See here? Your vitamin A levels are low. You need to have sufficient, healthy levels of vitamin A where we're going next."

"Why?" Tabs sees no need for vitamin A, which he probably doesn't need because Yato don't tend to get cancer or eye problems, for which said vitamin is a good supplement for prevention.

"You just do," Abuto states curtly. "Your friends Mei and Zen over here passed with flying colors, unlike yourself."

"Mei is probably popping crazy supplement pills and the lieutenant is superman," Tabs protests.

"Superman?" splutters Mei. "He's a freaking tea addict."

"Peach tea," Abuto and Tabs add in unison.

"All those antioxidants or whatever," Mei continues.

The lieutenant casts his aide a dubious look, because what does that _really_ have to do with Tabs nearly failing his medical examination?

"Lieutenant," Tabs addresses quietly, "if I pay you in twenty sticky rice cakes will you drink this for me?"

"He already drank his," Abuto informs them all, "and besides that, no bribing."

"I can't believe you drank this," Tabs whispers.

"He's superman," Mei boasts, as if proud of the fact that Zenshi can down all varieties of nutritious sludge with ease. "He can disintegrate celery with his eyes alone."

Abuto chuckles, shaking his head. "I remember when _you_ two were vitamin deficient."

Tabs peers up at them, and finds that his crewmate and his superior both have horrified expressions on their faces. Well, Mei is clearly mortified, and Zenshi has gone to his dangerously silent rejection of the topic.

"Could it be…you two had to drink this too?" He's delighted, and plucks at the buttons on his sleeve excitedly.

"It was a few months after you guys had your first med exams," Abuto recalls. "This one," he says, jerking a thumb at Mei, "had to be force-fed. And this one —" a nod towards the stoic, ebony-haired lieutenant "— swallowed everything whole as if his life depended on it."

"Superman," reiterates Mei forcefully.

"Just drink it, Tabs," Zenshi tells the other Yato flatly.

"Well," says the man, sucking in a breath sharply, "I guess if the lieutenant says I should, then I will. And order's an order."

Abuto throws his hands up incredulously. "And ya won't listen to your vice-captain? Boy, do you need to listen to yourself!"

Tabs offers Abuto such a sweet, innocent grin, half hidden behind the cup of crunchy leaf slush that there is nothing left to offer.

"So, where are we going?"

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

The day passed with little excitement — Seita studied, Hinowa hummed as she darned a seemingly endless stream of socks, and Tsukuyo exchanged awkward glances across the table with Zenshi as he tutored the rebellious little boy between them.

"Well," she stated, clearing her throat when noon passed with a few rumbling stomachs. "Hinowa, I'll go buy somethin' for us all in town, then."

No one had asked, but the silence was squashing the blonde's usual composure. The agitation was slight, but evident in the bead of sweat glistening on her forehead. The day did not bring great sunlight, and a good portion of Yoshiwara fell into the walls' shadows anyway.

"Take Zenshi with you," Hinowa chirped coolly.

"I'm done with math?" asked Seita, eyes glimmering.

"Yes, for now," Hinowa agreed. "You'll stay here and do your summer journal, though."

"But I've kept up with it! I wrote about Jiraia and the fires, and then I wrote about Suzuran and the Shogun and the—"

"I'm _sure_ your teacher will love that, but how about now? You ought to write something about now," Hinowa suggested.

"I wrote about when we met Zen, and I wrote about when Zen took me to the market, and—" An epiphany sparked across his features in the form of raised eyebrows and a quivering grin. "I got it!"

"You did?" Hinowa prompted him to tell, but he shook his head.

"I'll show you later, Mom. But only you." Enthusiastic about doing homework for once, the boy bounded up the stairs to retrieve his journal.

"You two had better leave now, before he changes his mind," hummed Hinowa. "Have a good time."

Zenshi, who had been casually patting his hair down, watched Tsukuyo clear her throat and roll her pipe around with her teeth.

"Fine then. What do ya want us to bring home?"

The look on Hinowa's face was almost terrifying; Zenshi had a flashback to the time his mother very blatantly stated that she dreamt of grandchildren. Tsukuyo, apparently, sensed this, and took a step out of the parlor.

"Just some bread, lettuce, cheese, salami. Maybe tuna. Tartar sauce. I want to make an English tea setting. Cucumbers, little cucumber sandwiches are nice." Smiling sweetly, the woman bid them farewell, and the two cautiously trekked to the elevators, not exactly far away from one another, but making sure they weren't close enough to touch.

"What kinda tea is good fer English tea?" Tsukuyo wondered aloud.

"Earl," Zenshi told her. "Earl Grey."

* * *

><p><strong>GREEN SLUSH: <strong>inspired by what the author is drinking right now

it really wasn't that bad

but if you asked me to drink more right now

just. no.

VITAMIN A, TABS, VITAMIN A.

and tumblr is going cuckoo on me, so I'm mad.


	39. - Thirty-Nine -

That's probably it for today, but **FUN FACTS!**

**Ch. 38: **Okay, if you didn't get the _**Frozen**_parody, then you're missing out! Mei definitely sang her own version of "Let it Go," and c'mon: "Do you wanna have some pancakes?" . . . "It doesn't have to be a -SNOW MAN-".

**Ch. 38: **The English tea is because I was rereading Kaichou wa Maid-sama and that's what Usui suggested for their Footman Audition table set-up.

**Ch. 36: **Zenshi's aunt's name literally just means "weeping weeping willow tree". Because weeping willow tree in Japanese was too long, so I just kept the weeping part. Haha.

**Ch. 35: **And, once again, any mention of the Planet Pheromones is a reference to Usui Takumi of Kaichou wa Maid-sama, the TRUE Prince of the Planet Pheromones.

**Random: **Because I actually did just drink a green slush...

* * *

><p><strong>The epic conclusion of the "WHAT DID I JUST ALLUDE TO?!" game!<strong>

**Story: **"higher-up" whose sister-in-law is killed in Harusame endeavors? _Linter_

**Series: **AHH NO YOU DON'T GET THIS ONE YET! lol.

**DISCLAIMER: All hail Hideaki Sorachi.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 39 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"You never answered my second question."

"Which was?"

"What's your relation to the samurai?"

"That's a nosy question."

"I am," Zenshi confirmed confidently, "an apparently nosy person."

"Ya mean you've got a big nose? Sure?"

"And you've got some _hist'ry yer unwillin' ta share_, hmm?"

They exchanged caustic glances as the elevator hummed upward with mellifluous background music loping from wall to wall.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, THREE MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

He wondered if he could smell colors, but convinced himself that it was the rain playing tricks on his senses, the gentle pitter patter hypnotically soothing the senses into a dream-like juxtaposition. But there was a mixture of fresh rose and coffee, ground intricately with a stream of tobacco. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, but distinct.

Zenshi supposed that, with Tsukuyo's head resting on his shoulder, the woman swayed into a gentle sleep, it was a sensation he didn't mind. In fact, it erased the malaise of stress and elucidated the calm of the rainfall. He caught himself before his hand reached around for her hair, startled by the fact that he hadn't thought twice about tucking the straw-golden hair behind the courtesan's ear.

But she noticed; he hadn't refrained in time.

"Has the rain stopped?" Her eyes never opened, and she was still too entangled with her drowsiness to fully comprehend her position.

"No," he told her gently. "Not yet."

Like a kitten tucking back into its curl, Tsukuyo's awareness slipped again, leaving the weight of her consciousness on Zenshi's shoulder, inexplicably at ease.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Alien-san!" came the accented call. It was a raspy but feminine voice, belonging to a not quite stout but rather rectangular middle-aged woman. "Alien-san and Tsukuyo-san," she called with what appeared to be feigned enthusiasm.

"Ah," was all that came from Tsukuyo's lips.

It was not a human, but an Amanto woman that approached them. She had recognizable cat ear's and a plain — or, rather atrocious — bob cut, as well as thick, definable eyebrows that both Zenshi and Tsukuyo internally cringed at.

"Catherine," Tsukuyo attempted to continue. "Hello."

"What brings you two to Kabukichou?" asked Catherine. "I'm buying Otose-san some groceries. You?"

Her accent was disconcerting, even for Zenshi. He'd become accustomed to strange tongues, all of which translated to lilted intergalactic speech, and he found the differences in pronunciation curiously pleasant. He would admit to a growing fondness for Tsukuyo's speech, but Catherine's broken Japanese never ceased to make him uncomfortable. While amusing, the cat-woman's jerky sentences and misshapen emphases made it hard to understand her full intentions.

"Same," Tsukuyo answered briskly. She took notice of Zenshi's tendency to fall laconic in public settings, but didn't mention it.

"Otae-san is having a party at Snack Smile, would you like to come? For everyone and lots of drinks!"

"Oh, well—"

"It's tonight, we'll see you right? Snack Smile is advertising Snack Otose, how nice!" Catherine was definitely in her own little world then, stifling them in a sore quagmire, stuck between polite refusal and lack of openings to do assert their thoughts. "See you then!"

"Ah—"

Zenshi touched her elbow, as if to tell her to give up.

"I guess we're goin' to a party," the blonde muttered. "Do ya wanna go?"

"Was I invited?" he drawled flatly.

"She _did_ call you Alien-san. How do you know Catherine?"

"Long story. Was that question twenty?"

"No, it wasn't."

"So you get to choose, while I don't?"

"Choose yer questions?" Tsukuyo smirked. "Yes, I do get to choose my questions. I initiated the game, after all."

* * *

><p><strong>.: NINE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Graduation is such a colossal event that Zenshi tends to block it from his memory. The morning of, his roommates — one rather neutral Yato whom everyone calls the scavenger crow of the lot, and one leopard-boy who purrs in his sleep — have been chased from the dorm, and he finds that Mei is slamming pots and pans together in front of his face while Kougi whistles away on a flute.

Almost instantaneously, the dark-haired boy leaps to his feet and grasps Mei by the wrists, swinging his legs around so that when he stands, he can trade places with Mei by throwing her down on the narrow mattress. He deftly catches the silverware and kitchen tools — one metal ladle and a huge saucepan, with a smaller one sitting by just for kicks.

"Don't ask me, she has a death wish," Kougi sniffs when Zenshi glares at her, too. "You have nice hair, by the way."

He is in no way, shape, or form in the mood for that compliment, and snarls in his lupine manner, brows slightly furrowed and upper lip curled.

"You aren't a morning person, are you?" Mei's bored, and she crosses her legs, humming as she studies the plain white ceiling of his room. "You never decorated this place in all four years? How sad. Our room's painted green and aqua and light purple. Have you ever seen it?"

Zenshi stuffs a pillow in the girl's face.

"No, I haven't."

Mei resurfaces, and tells him he should.

"Why are you even here?" he half moans, sour.

"Because it's…" Mei and Kougi exchange devious glances. "_Graduation!_"

* * *

><p><strong>.: THIRTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The first day of class is a spate of greetings and conversations and new faces. The Yato that accompanied him to the planet are dispersing in wide arcs, discovering the crowds. Zenshi mulls about, hackles raised whenever anyone approaches, looking solemn and unfriendly. There is one Yato, a short boy that is one of the rare Yato who need eyeglasses, that follows him at a distance. Zenshi recognizes him as the son of one of Linter's aides, and dismisses him as one of _those_ followers.

Suddenly, there is a spat in the middle of the grandiose lecture hall and there are hisses, shouts, a dispersion of people from the center aisles.

"Damn you!" screams a girl. She is an urgent figure, her entire essence shouts for attention. With hair like the middle of a flame and pale, porcelain features common to that of the Yato, this girl is a force to contend with. She shields another Amanto with her body, and it's a quivering Welsh corgi of a child, an Inuisei female student. Coincidentally, the Yato is guarding the dog-girl from another of the same race: a hulking bearlike shepherd junior who growls from deep within his throat.

"Get out of the way," he roars. No teacher is in the room, not yet, because this is the informal initiation, and the students are "getting to know one another".

"No," spits the Yato girl. Her hair is like fire and her eyes are a mellow amber that flash deep coral with her anger. "You have no right to push her around like that."

"C'mon, she's my girlfriend, you ain't got—"

As soon as the Inuisei reaches out a grimy paw, the orangette is on him like a vicious cat. Her slim figure is the body of a fierce, wild feline, and she scratches his face once, twice, before driving a bony elbow up his jaw and the crack that resounds silences the entire room.

"I won't let a filthy bastard like you even _touch_ a girl," she seethes. "You're disgusting. That was disgusting. Whatever you say, this is what you deserve. Next time you lay a hand on this girl, I will take out an eye. What's your name?"

"Ah ain' tell'n ya." The Inuisei crawls to his feet, holding his broken jaw in his paws, looking severely pained. He can hardly speak, but he tries nonetheless. An expletive comes from his dog's muzzle almost incomprehensibly, but the way he throws it out makes it clear what he meant.

"You're not even supposed to be in here, you're not a freshman," hisses the Yato girl. At that exact moment, a peppy-looking Amanto teacher strides into the room with little more than a nonchalant smile and a colorful bowtie.

"There seems to have been a ruckus. What happened?"

No one says a thing. The orange-headed girl is still shielding the corgi with a wide stance, while the perpetrator clasps his broken face gingerly. The crowd of hundreds — a few hundred out of one or two thousand incoming freshman — goes eerily, suspiciously silent. The teacher waits.

"He tripped on the stairs and hit his jaw against a desk. It's broken."

All eyes turn to Zenshi, who chews on a stalk of grass and folds his arms, meeting several gazes, which drop before the intense pressure of his own. The lecture hall does sport many seats and desks, and the precariously aligned stairs up the way create plausible circumstances for such an accident.

The teacher, however, is not clueless. Almost imperceptibly, he angles the glint of his eyes briefly towards Zenshi, before sweeping his gaze down the aisles from Yato to Inuisei and back.

"How unfortunate," he finally concludes. "All right, let's get you to the nurse. I'll be back in a moment to introduce you all to the school. Continue with whatever you were doing."

The teacher gestures for the injured to follow.

The Yato girl shoots a glare after the dog-boy.

Little did they know that in their later years, the dog-boy would drop out before his own final year, and that his final attempt at harassing the poor corgi girl — quite obviously, Kougi — would result in his loss of an eye by the hand of the one and only Mei.

Gorou the Inuisei has since then kept a wary eye on the Yato, and is all too happy to take them out when ordered to.

Even though his Harusame 8th Division falls to ruin when he is thoroughly executed by Admiral Kamui in due time.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Welcome to Snack Smile! Oh, if it isn't Tsukuyo and her friend!" It was the frightening brunette, her one-eyed companion, and a few other cabaret girls. Zenshi felt a tug in his gut that told him to leave at once, and apparently, Tsukuyo must've had the same idea, because both of them hesitated at the door.

Unfortunately, they were dragged inside, a few girls cooing at Tsukuyo and her _friend_.

As soon as they entered and the Yorozuya caught wind of their arrival, the faces of several men went ghostly white. Gin, who had danced around a corner only to bump into Tsukuyo, soon had a complexion fairer than Snow White, fairer than the most sheltered Yato in the universe.

He mouthed "oh my god" and then whispered a prayer, clutching a bottle of white wine to his chest and backing away slowly.

Tsukuyo glared.

"What?" she snapped irately.

"Hey, Tsukki," laughed Gin nervously, "what's up? Yeah, like, no alcohol today or anything, we're totally not drinking so you don't have to either, you know, like, yeah."

"Gin-chan, quit it with the 'like, yeah!' it's really annoying, yes?" Kagura exclaimed, appearing from a booth donned in fantastic furs and sipping orange juice like it was a fancy cocktail.

Shinpachi sidled up to Zenshi and whispered, "She has a low alcohol tolerance. Very, very low."

Zenshi gave the boy a sidelong glance, as thanks for the impromptu explanation. He would have deduced it in good time, but from the way Gintoki reacted, he guessed that learning by experience would mean learning the hard way.

"Hey, Blue Yato," Gin chortled, seemingly inventing new names for Zenshi every time they met, "We're not drinking, right? Right? _Say that I'm right_."

"Of course," Zenshi complied.

"Oh, Zen-chan, are you Tsukki's date?" Kagura called rather loudly.

"No he's not," Tsukuyo almost immediately replied. She flushed red, and grabbed the wine bottle from Gin's hands. The samurai yelped, grabbed a friend — a rather slovenly older man wearing sunglasses and ratty straw slippers, who screamed _m_ost _a_ppalling, _d_irty, _a_nomalous _o_ssan [in other words, _MADAO_] — and then ran for his life to the back of the cabaret club.

Shinpachi screamed willy-nilly like a little girl and sprinted after them as if the ghosts of Glasses past, present, and future were at his heels.

"Hey everyone!" called Otae, the fearsome brown-haired woman. "I'd like to thank you all for coming to our celebration of Oryou-chan's birthday! Everyone in Kabukichou is invited, and any travelers are welcome to come inside as well!"

The microphone screeched momentarily.

"Please enjoy yourselves this evening!"

Someone shouted the birthday girl's name, but a rock flew across the way and silenced whoever it was very quickly. Meanwhile, as half the Yorozuya and a few terrified men ducked behind chairs, Tsukuyo took a brief swallow of wine because she deemed it necessary.

There was a prickle at the back of Zenshi's neck.

The recollection of an earlier heeded warning resurfaced, and as Tsukuyo grabbed his arm and swung him into a wild waltz, only one drink setting her past what one might consider intoxicated, he saw the party at the right end of the club rise discreetly to their feet.

One man wielded a large umbrella, his left shoulder emblazoned with the fifth squad's sniper specialist's platinum star.

_Watch out for the fifth and seventh squads. They're on patrol. There's also an order to take your head if you're spotted._

The man never once aimed for Zenshi, never once had that intention, and it was apparent. There was another body blocking the shot to Zenshi, and the target was clearly that person.

Zenshi, in that split second, placed both hands on Tsukuyo's waist before she could push him away in her drunken daze.

He spun them in a swift dance, dipping her down so that the bullet hit his shoulder instead of her head.

The club erupted in screams.

* * *

><p>uwahuwahuwahuwah<p>

sometimes these things happen randomly

but they fit in

and if you're reading this far, kudos to you!

if not

shame on you

lol just kiddin'.

ANYWAY: GO CHARLIE WHITE AND MERYL DAVIS LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.


	40. - Forty -

**- 40 CHAPTER MARK -**

Whoo! I'm honestly so thrilled that I've pursued this story so far...

And thus, a LONG CHAPTER for you all!

**Note: **If you read ch. 39 before I updated it again, then you already know (ohoho), but if not, then I just took out the second answer to the

**WHAT DID I JUST ALLUDE TO?! **game...

**ANSWER - Series : YOU'LL FIND OUT THIS CHAPTER! (^_^)**

* * *

><p><strong>DISCLAIMER: Sorachi Hideaki owns all non-OC figuresconcepts, and any OC-canon relations are of my own creation. Whoot whoot.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 40 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

She caught him as soon as he fell, but it was his blood that washed her sober.

* * *

><p><strong>.: EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He lies on the floor, motionless, and the metallic warmth that tickles his skin creeps along the wood panels with apathetically slow progress. He's cold all over, but his right eye blazes like the sun he has never seen openly.

A tear of blood trickles down his face like an acolyte of the absent tears, but he cannot see anything. The fingers of his left hand are stiff, frozen, unfeeling. The wrist is shattered, bent horribly out of position. He waits.

There's a gap in his memory between the time he fades from consciousness to the prickly pain of stitches as he regains the feeling in every single nerve ending. His long, blue-black hair is coated in blood, some dried, some still fresh, and it makes him slick, makes him hard to hold. Yet his aunt grips his head in a strong arm, her fingers caked in red, cradling him as her working hand waves in and out, in and out.

The movement is hypnotic, yet it makes him sick because he can faintly feel the pull of his flesh and the rolling of his eye in its socket. Only the soothing brush of his mother's cool fingers against his own calm him. She sits at his left, stroking the wrist set into a cast, and he suddenly wonders how he, a little boy, can bleed so much, when he realizes that it's not his own blood beneath her fingernails, but her own. A purple bruise lines her left cheek, and it's then he knows that she must've gone after the assassin.

His kind, soft mother, who smothered her Yato blood and would never even touch a fly, with a near-black eye and a split lip. Out of the corner of his good eye, he sees her murmuring little nothings. At her waist, her delicate mauve umbrella stained a pearly, ominous orchid with blood and darkness. She tries not to hide her pain, the unaccustomed sensation of violence, but she fails.

"He was crazy," Zenshi rasps, hoarsely. He's hardly a pip, a squeak, but she squeezes his partially numb hand lovingly.

"I know."

"Lanhua, can you give me that role of gauze? I'm going to wrap him up," Auntie says. Her voice echoes off the walls, ubiquitous and resounding. His consciousness is falling away from him, like water receding from the shore.

"Here it is," his mother says, handing her sister the roll.

There is flickering movement in the darkness, but it's gone.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

It was Kagura that leapt to her feet and fired three rounds at the assailants, her body language fierce and determined. But her small red umbrella was nothing against their loaded, specialized bullets, and the crowd ducked behind chairs and booths and overturned tables. Several are nowhere to be seen — those that had fled Tsukuyo's impending destructive intoxication had probably escaped out the back.

"K-Kagura." Zenshi, half slumped over Tsukuyo, unhooked his own parasol from his belt and tossed it her way. It slid along the floor until it reached the redhead's hands, where she pulled it quickly to her chest and rolled until she had a clear shot at the enemy.

"Hey," Tsukuyo exclaimed, her voice quavering. She was surprisingly strong, her arms wrapping around his torso and dragging him behind a round booth. He collapsed alongside the back of the chairs, her hands gripping his arms so hard that her knuckles went white. "H-hey" she repeated, unable to break out of her initial shock.

Zenshi reached up to wipe the blood from her face.

"Tell them," he said, coughing. "The bullets are poisoned."

Tsukuyo's eyes went wide, and they darkened, pupils dilated with panic. They were the same hazy lavender, the same dark as his mother's umbrella, except swathed in fear and everything malicious.

"Kagura!" called the woman, relaying the message. When the younger girl could not hear, Tsukuyo tried to stand, but Zenshi vehemently pulled her down. Several figures were now reentering the club, including the Yorozuya men and their partners. The wail of sirens outside was cut short as someone slammed the doors shut and boarded them up.

_Harusame kills Yato woman…The war of the ages…_

A sudden desperation pushes him to wrap his arms around Tsukuyo and force her down, to shield her, to keep her from running up and away.

"Don't move," he said, "those are snipers that don't miss."

The sound of nearby shooting must've been Kagura, but he couldn't tell. His vision was foggy and a sense of lethargy burgeoned from beneath his sternum. His grip on Tsukuyo was loosening, but to his thickly recognized relief, she didn't leave. If he wasn't hallucinating, the courtesan had just ripped her sleeve off and was pressing it to his shoulder.

A duo of samurai tumbled over to their location, one wielding a sword and the other a gun.

"Gintoki!" exclaimed Tsukuyo. "The bullets are poisoned!"

"So it seems," grunted the silver samurai, ducking behind a table in the vicinity before peeking over the top. The bullets didn't ricochet, but instead embedded or shattered. Luckily enough for Gin, he had flattened himself to the floor as the bullet shattered the glass table and stuffed itself angrily into the couch behind him. The samurai carefully brushed broken shards of glass away from him, crawling back to his armed partner. "Hey," he hissed, "Tatsuma, go left."

"Go left? Oryou-chan's on my right, I hafta go that wa—"

"Just go left!" Gin seized the merchant by his curly brown hair and threw him in the right direction. A bullet flew by with a whiz, and Sakamoto laughed boisterously.

"Ah, that was close," he sighed, as if delighted by the entire ordeal.

"You idiot!" Gin smacked the back of his companion's head before turning back to Tsukuyo. "Oi, is he okay?"

"The bullets are poisoned," Tsukuyo repeated. She appeared to avoid the question, for the panic in her eyes gestured confusion and insecurity. Zenshi's one hand lingered on the hem of her yukata, watching as the patterned maple leaves died in copious rivers of his blood.

"Hey, Tsukki, still drunk or something? You already said that." But Gin was serious, he was concerned. "Does anyone know what type of poison?"

Tsukuyo was too frozen to answer.

Weakly, Zenshi extended his arm from Tsukuyo's lap to point at Sakamoto. Their eyes turned to the grinning merchant with incredulous disbelief.

"_Him_?"

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWELVE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He brandishes his umbrella, pretending his doesn't care.

But he does care, he cares a great deal, because this is the man that hurt his mother, this is the man that caused the pain in her eyes so many year ago, and if there is one thing he hates with unfathomable force, it's the suffering of those he holds dear.

He's taller, stronger, faster now.

And he kills the assassin with little more than a thought, and it is the blood that intoxicates him.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

"You're trying to tell me that _this idiot_ has the antidote?" Gin raked Sakamoto back towards the group, tugging on the man's coat. "That's impossible. You're nuts."

"Zenshi," said Tsukuyo urgently, "is it the Harusame?"

He nodded. When he shifted, the blood oozed from his shoulder and seeped through the cotton she pressed to his body.

From a distance, they heard the dismayed cry of Kagura.

"Shinpachi!" she half sobbed, half screamed. Zenshi could not turn to look, but from the expressions on their faces, the situation was not bright. Through his lurching haze, the presences of the fifth squad were emerging from their positions and hunting ever closer.

"We need that antidote. Now." Gin shoved Sakamoto upright next to Zenshi, who was now propped up against the back of the booth with Tsukuyo attempting to stifle the flow of blood from his shoulder. The poison ejected antibodies and enzymes that hindered the extraordinary ability of Yato blood platelets to clot. The two parts to the venom would either alter the properties of blood so that the shielded wound clot dissolves to quickly, or digests any utilized platelets altogether.

However, that was the only specifically Yato-targeted side to the poison. For most Amanto, the combined series of lethal substances would kill within the next fifteen minutes, reducing the ability to breathe and stopping the heart. Essentially, it melted wounds and froze bodily functions.

But there was an antidote, one that only the higher-ups of the Harusame carried.

After all, a pawn is a pawn to the organization, nothing more and nothing less.

"Where's the antidote?!" hollered Gin. "Tatsuma!"

"Antidote? I—"

A bullet shredded the back of the booth and flew right through the merchant's left arm.

"—eh?"

"Tatsuma!"

"Get down!"

Simultaneously, Tsukuyo and Gin pulled all four of them down to the floor, laying flat behind the pierced couch. The bullets may not have been all firepower, but they were certainly potent.

"Gin-chan, Gin-chan!" came Kagura's wail. "Shinpachi is—"

"Well," Sakamoto muttered through gritted teeth, "this is unpleasant."

Zenshi reached over and took the gun from his hands, which quivered in vacant spasms.

"_Call_," he ordered harshly, "_now_."

Sakamoto laughed shortly, each breath becoming a task. The poison was affecting him faster than most.

"I don't have to," he croaked. "She's already here."

* * *

><p><strong>.: NINE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He has made a habit out of sitting in on surgeries and treatments and appointments, under the guise of a student assistant. He's a recent graduate, but for the time being, he's back in his hometown, doing his regular activities: occasionally shadowing his father, though he loathes those moments now; watching the younger kids passing on by to the temple school, an echo of himself several years prior; spending quiet dinners with his mother, who is relieved to have him home; or running errands for the madam down the street, who grows more and more sickly by the day. Yet still, he finds time to learn the art of medicine, crowding around the operating table with the new technology probably invented by some graduate of Ocentisa, some few years ago.

"This," Auntie tells him, "this is dangerous."

It's the root of a plant he's never seen, from a planet that he's probably never visited.

"I see it once in a blue moon, this poison. But I learned a lot about it from your grandfather. It's potent, even lethal, for any Amanto."

"Then how is this man alive?" asks the ever-inquisitive Zenshi, perched on a swiveling stool, eyeing the sleeping patient put to dreamland via countless IVs and anesthetics.

"Because," Auntie says, "I made the antidote."

There is a pause as she motions to a nurse — her clinic has since grown into a lovely small hospital, with well-furnished medical centers and patient rooms — who wheels the man away.

"Right before your graduation," she continues, glancing his way, "I found out that my husband, your uncle, had died recently."

Zenshi is taken aback; though he has never been close to his uncle, he has met the man on many an occasion with Linter. Those are the moments he recalls: a hardworking man who has a stoic daughter at his side. He sometimes wonders if the taciturn attitude is maternal, if he and his little cousin are so similar.

"He's…gone?"

"Yes. He had been sick for some time," sighs Auntie, "and the fool was too proud to come see me. But then again, even I probably couldn't have helped him."

"I'm sorry," Zenshi offers in a low mumble. "For everything."

"Don't apologize," his aunt admonishes lightly. "And speak clearly, my dear. You didn't go to such a fancy school to learn how to mumble."

He nods complaisantly.

"While you were at school, however, I did meet my daughter."

Zenshi snaps to attention, ears perking at this information.

"She was here about half a year before you graduated, I'd say, with a different business and a new job. She's fifteen now." Auntie smiles forlornly. "I wish I'd seen her grow up. But she's a darling, she looks much like her father. I know you've seen her on your political expeditions, and I've probably already asked you all I could about her — but it's just so different to see her in person."

"I think she looks more like you," Zenshi notes quietly.

"Does she?" Auntie looks like she is floating into her memories, but the anchor of reality brutally weighs her down. "She stayed for two weeks or so. It was nice. I can't say much for the Earthling she was with, however. A bit of an airhead, if you ask me. But I liked him, he was very courteous and such a jolly character."

"That's good to hear."

"Oh please, Zenshi, you don't have to reply. I told you to speak up, but that doesn't mean you have to. I know you enough." She smiles, a bit more naturally this time, and cleans up some of her tools. The nurse returns with the empty gurney, and she wipes it down and changes the sheets with complacent ease. Zenshi wipes down the surgery table as she does so, both in contemplative silence.

Auntie finally rests, the day has come to a close, and the setting of the sun on the less rainy days means the Yato are out and about. With luck, there will be few ruffians falling from roofs and injuring themselves, and thus less to care for in the hospital for the night.

"I tried to impart to her as much as I could before she left," Auntie says, continuing her retrospective as they neaten up the waiting room and dismiss most of the staff. "She's such a bright girl. I was so happy to see her."

Zenshi waits, gracing his aunt with his knowing wordlessness.

But instead, she asks a question.

"Do you think she was glad to see me? To come home?"

There is a confound desperation, bequeathed by the misery usually concealed in her eyes and a slight falter to her step. Zenshi decides that he has no clue regarding the origin of their family personalities. His mother's side expresses every emotion with full depth, but most of all, they are hushed, brooding people who wonder what it is that went wrong, and why, and when, and how.

"I cannot answer that for you," Zenshi informes his aunt with considerate coldness. "But I can surely tell you that she misses you. She told me."

"She does?" Auntie's face glimmers, and it almost breaks his heart.

"It means," Zenshi says, "that she loves you dearly. She was certainly happy to see you. Otherwise, she wouldn't have come."

The look then on his aunt's face remains ingrained in his mind always and forever, and he doesn't recognize it then, but it will stay within the pages of his memory because every time he sees his cousin, it's that same face reflected in her soft yet shielded features.

Always, and forever.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

_I tried to impart to her as much as I could before she left_.

The blast of a firearm rocked the building, shook the floor, reverberated within their bones. The sound of a revolver was always somewhat different from a loaded Yato umbrella's distinctive noise. The parasols had less of a pop and more of a resounding cannon echo. The handgun was sharp, quick, instantaneous.

"Whoever wasted our money on this party, I will castrate them and they will experience one thousand years of pain." One shot, and there was a snap as the Yato umbrellas opened and they guarded themselves.

"Fire!" came the voice of a pirate, and the Yato were firing again.

"Whoever was _dumb_ enough to get shot, I will also castrate you and you will experience one thousand years of pain." She muttered something about all the trouble her reckless, harebrained, imbecilic captain could cause. As the woman neared, Zenshi pushed himself away from his group of four, propping himself over the back of the couch and aiming Sakamoto's gun in the woman's direction.

He shot past her, skimming the shoulder of a less attentive Yato crewman.

"And whoever shoots _at_ me," she hollered in her dry, apathetic way, "will die."

She began to weave her way over to Zenshi, who hung limply over the couch, wrenching both arms forward in excruciating pain so that he could handle his wobbly aim past her. As the Yato fired, she dodged by instinct and he shot the best he could against them.

Mutsu landed behind their newly formed barricade of chairs, tables, and couches with nimble lightness. From her pocket, a small capsule full of green gel pills emerged.

"That," Gin said, breathless because he had been dragging several cabaret girls to safety, "makes a lot more sense."

"Mucchi," sobbed Kagura, clinging to her bespectacled friend.

But Mutsu ignored them and stared at Zenshi, pointedly noting his shoulder.

"In most of us, there's an important artery right there," she remarked wryly. In a soft undertone, her expression clearly told him that he was an incompetent moron to have allowed the bullet to pierce such a vital spot.

But Zenshi would answer her with a laugh, leaning back in relief when Mutsu handed him the pill to swallow, because it was the exact same thing her mother had told him, twenty long, painful years ago.

* * *

><p><strong>ANSWER:<strong>

yes.

They are cousins. Ohohoho.

**NOTE: **Yes, longer chapter, but you should be grateful these aren't **Emeralds **chapters...aHHH. So long.

**OFFICIAL MICROSOFT WORD PAGE COUNT:**

_approx. 157_


	41. - Forty-One -

This was a toughie to write!

But here you go! Thanks to all reviewers: you guys make my day!

**What did I just [allude] REVEAL?! game:**

THE EPIC CONCLUSION (not really haha)

**Series: **YES, they are COUSINS! How exciting. whoot whoot

**DISCLAIMER: Sorachi Hideaki is boss, because they aren't really cousins in canon hahaha ...because Zenshi's not canon. *crai forevah***

_**blooper:**_I accidentally closed this tab and had to redo the entire thing...

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 41 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: THIRTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

It's not uncommon for his father to delve into the more, let's say, obscure corners of the political realm. The looming ship that is the massive leading vessel of the _Chidori_ daunts Linter not a bit, and it's not because the man's brother-in-law stands before the steering wheel.

They pass dungeon after dungeon after dungeon, the reeking cells threatening to pull Zenshi's lunch from his stomach. The stench of human decay and misery and waste, merely a few yards away.

He is sent to — or rather, sentenced — to a day in a simple office, where most of his time is spent playing cards with a few meager desk employees and a little brunette who snacks on strangely colored carrots and misshapen rice balls. Zenshi's surprised his father has not let him in on the negotiations, but brushes it off because he's relieved. He'd choose playing Uno with his cousin and a few bizarre purple-skinned Amanto over suffocating under his father's oppressive leash any day.

"How old are you?" he asks, curious.

"Eleven," she says. "What about you?"

"Fourteen," he replies. But that's not her true intention, because the younger girl simply looks hungry. It should be obvious — blue and green carrots accompanying dry rice balls did not seem to quiet the rumbling of their stomachs.

There's a calendar on the wall; it's almost Lunar New Year.

"We brought some on Dad's private ship, but we'd have to sneak across the terminal to get it." He's referring to the new year cake, made of the finest sticky rice in the universe and red beans of the highest quality.

"I know a shortcut," she replies, beneath her breath. The assistants working in the office have lost interest in their Uno game, and the two are stacking houses of cards in their boredom. "These guys won't say anything if I tell them not to."

Zenshi is skeptical, but consents. He, too, is hungry, and the Yato are infamous suckers for new year cake.

The connecting bridge between the main Chidori ship and Linter's traveling spacecraft is on deck four, near a central loading terminal. Mutsu very casually dons her jacket, which is a tad big for her, and leads him down the way.

"When we get on your ship, it's your show," she tells him needlessly.

"There won't be a show," he says, under his breath, "because there won't be an audience."

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

Mutsu practically stuffed the glowing green capsules down her captain's throat, and as he somehow gargled the antidote down, she pushed her gun into Gin's hands and pointed towards Kagura and Shinpachi. With the antitoxin in their hands, Gin and Zenshi dove for the next set of overturned couches, sliding headfirst into the redheaded Yato girl and her bespectacled partner.

"Gin-chan," Kagura blubbered, her arms wrapped around Shinpachi's shoulders. She was unusually distressed, but they discovered that her hopelessness was a side-effect of the poison — she, too, had been shot.

"I'll give them the antidote, you go for the pirates," Gin said hurriedly, distributing the green pills. "I'll finish up here."

"I'm coming with," Kagura exclaimed, determined now that she knew no one would be dying anytime soon.

"Stay," Zenshi told her firmly, blocking her way when she attempted to rise. "Trust me."

He had made a promise, one day, though he couldn't remember when or where. Or had he? He couldn't recall. But the obligation was present, and he wouldn't fail.

Zenshi leapt over the tables.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SIX YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Very early in their careers as with the Harusame, the younger generation of new recruits had proved to be a group of very powerful Yato with endless potential.

And they are.

At some the point, the older crewmen learn that they aren't to meddle with the "youngsters", lest they risk their lives in a squabble. For one, their lieutenant is the embodiment of intimidation, and that is with his eyes alone. The scrawny boys who boarded their first day are now scarred warriors, with broad shoulders and brazen personalities. The women are dynamic, some vicious, some cunning, and some both. There are kind souls here and there, but one mustn't forget the Yato blood that sears through their arms and legs like fire.

Zenshi, who climbs the ranks with the hand of the higher-ups, finds the ill-will and jealousy are domineering forces even within one ship, one fleet. Some of the slightly older men try to enervate him from his new status; they fail.

The one day his father's genes reveal themselves in full dress is the day the crew truly learns that their young lieutenant is force to reckon with.

It begins with a taunt, a decry. The man, perhaps twenty-five or so, calls Zenshi a puppet, a sham, a fake. The dark-haired Yato, the target, typically refrains from effusive displays of emotion, but he never takes well to insult. In fact, after tolerating a couple months of similar incidents, Zenshi has a lack of appropriate decorum and manners left in him.

At least, for the time being.

The accusation sprouts from a man of slickly dyed blond hair and an oily face. Within the crowd at the galley, it's hard to separate one from another, but Zenshi is keen enough to estimate. At this point, many have come to believe that he's attained a sixth sense: he has powers of perception unlike any other.

Zenshi stands, causing Mei to look up at him warily. She studies the way he slowly sweeps the crowd, and a smirk flashes across her lips because she _knows_.

A crewman of lower rank would never dare, Zenshi knows. He himself is number three after Kamui and Abuto, therefore he must take a chance and call out a rank similar to his own, but just below. Many of the Yato present believe that he recognized exactly who it was that disrespected him, but next to Zenshi, Mei and Tabs know better.

Zenshi simply guessed.

"Chief Warrant Officer," he calls in an authoritative, booming voice. Mei has to restrain giggles because Zenshi is usually the "inside voice" man. "Stand."

There are two men of that rank currently in the galley — one is sitting a few seats to the right of Tabs, and the other is across the room, where the shouts came from.

The blond is thoroughly terrified, though he stands with mock innocence woven across his unattractive features.

"Sir."

"Would you like to repeat what you said just now?" Zenshi slips out from his seat and saunters down the aisles and aisles of tables, commanding silence throughout the entire lower cafeteria.

"Pardon me, sir?" The meager _sir_ at the end is forced, and the mendacious twitch to the officer's lips draws a cruel glare from Zenshi. "I don't believe I—"

"Maybe I was too polite, Officer." Zenshi stands at the opposite end of the man's table. "Repeat what you just said, Chief Warrant Officer."

He makes a deal out of pronouncing every word like the next syllable will cost the perpetrator's life, and while it's got Mei on the verge of hysterical tears, the rest of the crew is dead silent.

_That's an order_, Zenshi's hard stare commands, inundating the man with sheer presence. _Or are you a coward? More of a coward than you say _I_ am?_

It's not enough to goad the truth out the man, not yet.

"I don't believe I said anything prior to being addressed, sir."

Obviously it's a lie, because the several men and sparse setting of women around him look away, hearts pounding in their chests. Yato are capable of feeling fear, but it's only in the presence of superiors like this. There are the few, like Kamui, that throw fear out the window and destroy emotions like dust beneath their soles, but these pirates are conditioned to something along the lines of subservience to their captains.

So Zenshi turns his back because he knows this will draw out the malice in the man.

As soon as the dark-haired Yato isn't facing the blond, the officer breaks out into a horrible, pompous grin. Within the same millisecond, the slight turn of Zenshi's head towards Mei is clear. She reads his nuances like a book and stands.

The girl hops over Tabs's meal and before the cruelly laughing officer can finish his smile, she has drawn her umbrella and shot him in the arm.

The man crumples over his bench, and Zenshi's raised hand keeps everyone in their seats. He never even had to touch the man.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

Zenshi was never a cruel leader — in fact, most of the Harusame crew found him to be a kind soul, just a quiet one. But they never forgot that he was strong.

Flying across the cabaret club undisguised, the Zenshi that was once hidden beneath a cloak burst onto the scene with unmatched aggression. One of the shooters lurched backward in shock — ironically, it was the oily blond man who was demoted shortly after his obstreperous show of insubordination six years ago — and failed to issue the necessary shots. His companions grabbed him, yelling gruffly until they realized had broken through their frontal line.

"There's only five of you?" Zenshi asked, hardly audible past the gunfire. "How surprising. Did someone die?"

"There's six of—"

"No, there's five." Zenshi was never sorry to see that grimy, gruesome man go.

"L-Lieutenant," one of them stuttered, never really expecting him to recover after suffering a poisoned bullet to the shoulder.

"Isn't it your birthday?" Zenshi was making things up now, finding that antidotes of any kind make him rather talkative, but he didn't necessarily care. Number two.

"Hey, hey, don't take all the glory yourself," said Gin, flying onto the scene with bold colors and bloody sleeves. "I'm here, too."

Gin fended off a tall, muscular woman and knocked her unconscious. When his back was turned, Zenshi scooped the crewwoman into his arms and quietly asphyxiated her with a couch cushion. Had he let them jail the Yato, more people would have died. In fact, there was no way an Earthling jail could contain a Yato, for even with Amanto technology and reinforced structures, even Tabs knew how to break out of bars. There were those like Kagura, who probably didn't yet understand that there were ways to focus strength into the weak points of metal, but it was clear that those in the pirate world were experts of escape.

Zenshi couldn't bring himself to smile as the life left the woman before him. Instead, he collected the thin, platinum badge she kept in a pocket and slipped it into his own. She had not been a very familiar face, but was similar enough to one of the bridge techs for him to recognize a crewman's family member.

Meanwhile, Mutsu, Sakamoto, and Kagura had detained all the rest of the Yato. While Kagura was precise in her blows, she did, as Abuto once mentioned, hold back. Sakamoto shot a man in the shoulder, but didn't kill him.

Mutsu, however, exchanged knowing glances with Zenshi, and quickly slipped something down each of their throats. Zenshi assumed it was lethal, at the same time ignoring the pang of something obstinate in his chest when he thought of how she'd concocted that serum. She had learned it somewhere, and it was evident how she knew.

"This is bad," Gin groaned, surveying the damage. "I don't have to pay for this, do I?"

"Do _I_ have to pay for this?" asked Sakamoto, sunglasses slipping down his nose. "I just to pay for Oryou-cha—"

"Shut up," Mutsu growled, taking the man by the collar and dragging him to the wayside. "We'll send a check."

"We're paying?" asked the curly-haired man, oblivious to practically everything.

"No. They are." Mutsu gestured the fallen Harusame, whom, despite their roles as the enemy, had been respectable Yato. Except perhaps one, that is.

Zenshi collected all their Harusame badges, each engraved with an identification number, just as he had been soldier three seven three, even that of the rancid blond he'd shot in the head.

"It's hard to kill crewmates," Mutsu said when he passed her. He threw her a sardonic, deprecating glance.

"Not for you," he replied.

"No, not for me," she agreed. "But my show's different. This is yours."

"There was," he said, rather resigned, "never really a show to begin with."

* * *

><p>Yes. Hard to write. Killing people. Ahhhhadhgka<p>

**KUCHIYOSE NO JUTSU: ****_POOH BEAR_**needs to be the caption on that Yuzuru Hanyu pic.

Plus all the others: summoning waves, a magic circle, lightning, beams, etc.

There's even one of him kicking Eren Jaeger, like wow.

**CONGRATS TO MERYL DAVIS AND CHARLIE WHITE! USA TAKES THE FIRST GOLD IN ICE DANCE!**

Okay so this breaks my heart because I love Virtue and Moir, but I'm so happy for Davis and White! (see what being both nationalities does to you, like wow)

but some faves: The French colorful duo and the Swan Lake dance by the Russians

**NICE JOB USA - the Shibutani sibs and Chock/Bates**

(fun fact: Evan Bates is my friend's cousin! How awesome!)


	42. - Forty-Two -

Uhh this chapter was kind of hard to write. A bit filler-ish. Sorry for the lack of updates in the last few days - super busy, and Olympics!

**FUN FACTS:**

**Ch. 40: **Zenshi's Mom's name, "Lanhua", means orchid.

**DISCLAIMER: Gorilla-sensei.**

This fic is so hard to write ahhhh.

**NOTE: **_I drew that scene of Zenshi and Tsukuyo, where she's eating the jelly haha. It's on my deviantART if you're curious (link in profile)_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 42 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Tabs is in tears because his little sister has been forced to enlist as a new 7th Division recruit because his family is practically dirt poor and the Harusame pays well. There's no one to pity him up in the bridge, except maybe Ensign Delong casting him a weary but sympathetic glance.

But Tabs is insistent in his blubbering tears, the poor thing, because as he explains, his baby sister is a little farmer girl who plows through the rain with her alien pony, a green thing with fluffy underdeveloped wings, and harvests carrots for their parents when times are hard and she can't make it to school. She's only sixteen while Tabs is now about twenty, but she's a hardy girl with a toothy smile that he can't bear to see blackened by this world, just as he has despite his bubbly demeanor.

"_Danchou_," he starts, voice quavering. "You've got to cut some of the new ones, please. Even our section wasn't this big."

The redhead is eating an ice cream sundae, from which he takes the spoon and points it at the officer with an amused grin.

"The more the merrier," Kamui chirps straightforwardly.

Even the rest of the bridge crewmen are feeling a little sore for Tabs, who spends his day pacing back and forth, messing up announcements, and generally making people angry.

"There's no way out once you're in," Mei tells him sadly, an eerie premonition of the years to come. "Her name's already registered up at the space center. I don't think we can take it out anymore."

Tabs, inconsolable for the rest of the week, does not go unnoticed by Zenshi. The lieutenant, at the end of each day, briefly claps a hand on the other man's shoulder and offers him a simple inquiry of his day. It's not much, but Tabs knows.

"Miserable, sir," he replies with thorough melancholy. On Friday, he comes out and asks, "Do you think there's any sort of thing that would get her kicked out right away? Sent to another job?"

"You can't really get sent to another job after signing up to be a pirate," comments Mei sardonically.

"You're not helping," Tabs whines.

"You're giving me a headache." Mei is, sweetly and simply, not always the kindest.

"Seriously," pleads the ship's announcer, running a hand through his dull brown hair anxiously. "She wanted to be a business entrepreneur, a traveling agent, maybe a tour guide. Even a wedding planner. Or a galaxy idol's manager. Or a lawyer."

"Not a lawyer," Zenshi flatly rebukes, folding his arms.

"Okay, not a lawyer," agrees Tabs, "but she wanted to do _something_. This isn't how she wanted to travel!"

"What's her name?" Mei draws a face on the misted window to her left, seated as they are in the eighth deck's short observation lounge.

"Ryoko." Tabs scrunches his nose, as if trying to capture an elusive thought. "Maybe an incident with a higher officer? Would that get her kicked out? Like a secret affair?" He makes a face, however, at this. "Insubordination right out of the gates? Thievery? Anything? Lieutenant?"

"He's pretending not to hear you speak your foul, treasonous words," Mei narrates, following Zenshi's nonchalant gaze out towards the rainy planet. There they are, a massive ship parked on the Yato planet, and none of them are really allowed off — except the daring few that sneak away, specifically from Zenshi's stationary guard because that's the most lenient exit — and most of them forlornly study the pipes that run in and out and up from their hometowns.

"Initiation is in _two hours_," Tabs exclaims, standing. His antsy pacing rivets all three into a bundle of nerves, and soon enough, Mei is fidgeting and Zenshi closes his eyes because Tabs sends overwhelming waves of edginess. "What am I going to _do_? I promised my parents I'd keep her safe, even if I was a pirate."

"Then why'd they send her here?" Mei snorts.

"They _didn't_. She's coming because she knows that this is the only surefire way to bring income back to the farm." He, too, is a farmer boy, a rare agriculturalist of the urban Yato world.

"That makes no sense," points out Mei. "You just said she was forced."

"By the circumstances!"

"You're ridiculous."

"And you're filthy rich!" Tabs hits hard, and at this, Zenshi actually laughs. It's just a chuckle, but both of his aides turn and eye him incredulously.

"That's right," Zenshi affirms, "we are. Aren't we?"

When Mei scowls, he rises, walks over, and slaps the back of her head good-naturedly. Tabs ducks when his superior walks by, but Zenshi does the usual clap on the shoulder and leaves. Mei relinquishes a string of invectives so atrocious as to never be repeated that the room itself seems offended, as the air chills and demystifies any of her intentions.

"Where's he going?" Tabs asks, but not to Mei because she's busy swearing her tongue away. She answers nonetheless.

"Probably to oversee initiation. Jinlin's doing it this time. The whole spiel, you know the one." It's the same as the one they received, except each time they recruit, no one wants to do it, and it ends up being Jinlin — whose voice could put you to sleep — or a tech — and all the techs are rather incompetent in regards to guiding a group. The one year Mei decided to jump in, they just happened to have a trio of firecrackers ready to blow up parts of the ship left and right, and Mei certainly didn't help better the situation. That would be the generation of seamen and women that ultimately were the life of the party. Most, however, were sentenced to another fleet, probably the left wing of the 7th Division.

After that incident, Mei resigned herself to making faces behind Jinlin, stopping only when she knew something important was about to be announced. (For example, when Jinlin warns the younger Yato not to mess with their higher-ups, Mei is dead silent, her effusive excessiveness halted because _do not mess with your higher-ups_ is advice that will determine whether you live or you die on your first day.)

"I'm going too," Tabs announces, pacing right out the door and leaving a cynical Mei tracing circles on her lap.  
>"It's in two hours," she says to no one, now that he's gone. "Have fun."<p>

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

The Shinsengumi were a fastidious group, exempt from empathizing with the grievances of people, human and Amanto alike. Well, at least a good portion of them were. For the hedonist Yorozuya leader, who grumbled but provided an eyewitness account, the police force was intolerable. But it was the immutable Hijikata that truly defined the group, with the subtle stream of smoke trailing from the end of his cigarette.

As his presence, accompanied by his squad's, filled the room, Zenshi found himself stuck in the middle of a crowded room with nothing to alleviate the incorrigible leaden weight in his chest.

Mutsu, who had a tendency to finger the edge of her wide sedge hat, had taken a seat next to the ever-positive Sakamoto. Tsukuyo, half torn between checking on a few people — Sa-chan the stalker was, of course, present, and the Yorozuya were never outside her concern — meandered to and fro, only settling when a police officer summoned her for questioning.

Dead bodies were carted away. To their dismay, one innocent customer had been caught in the crossfire, and the antidote had arrived too late. The woman's face was covered, but Mutsu refused to go anywhere near her. Zenshi recalled something Mei had once said, almost sadly but mostly as a blunt insult to Earth:

"Humans are weak."

And in her indiscriminate, ineffable disdain, she was right.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Jinlin is hardly deterred by the fact that this group of Yato has a straight dichotomous personality split down the middle. One half has the eyes of predators in the night, and the other is a mild group of middle- to low-class daughters and young sons.

But there is strange awe in all of them, and she supposes that's because behind her stands that severe, young lieutenant of hers, daunting with his analytical gaze and squared shoulders. She appreciates that he has an inherent grace, a strength most likely inherited from that famous father of his. Yet he is his own character, often brooding and silent but emanating an elusive kindness that even he cannot place.

Jinlin is finishing her usual, tedious and somewhat dreary intro, ready to pass the baton along to Jenhao, who is more eloquent and better at doing the main ship tour. To be honest, the whole thing feels like a cruise ship excursion, but the Harusame isn't completely an organization of brutes, and Kamui likes the initiation because he finds it amusing. Their accompanying vice-captain relents and comes up with something along the lines of, "It attracts more young warriors," when asked.

She narrows her eyes when she spots a familiar face; there is a meek but sturdy girl of youthful but marriageable age, and has an anxious quality about her that resembles someone Jinlin knows.

And that someone taps his shoulder just as the girl looks up with wide, kitten's eyes.

"I'll do the tour," says the boy, says Tabs.

"Where's Jenhao?" asks Jinlin, somewhat uncomfortable within the boy's serious proximity. He's leaning in her face and looking nervous. Tabs has always had that insipid, bland handsomeness to him — it's a little ragged and jagged, but still there — that came with maturity, but for strangely enough, Jinlin can only remember the young boy she initiated three years prior. She, then, was also quite young, but his class had been the one to remember. After all, their very own Mei and Zenshi came that year as well.

"I'm here," Jenhao announces, appearing seemingly out of thin air. "But if he wants to help me do the tour, that's fine."

They seem to have forgotten that Zenshi is standing there in somewhat morose silence, but it's of no great importance at the moment.

The group then proceeds to file out of the announcement hall and down deck seven's starboard walkways.

"Welcome, all," Tabs says stiffly, obliterating all credibility and seniority second by second, as the young Yato crack down on his fretfulness. A quick glance at Jinlin and Zenshi, who have rounded the back of the recruit herd, and then a sharp inhale. "I'm Petty Officer Zhuyi, and I'll be your tour guide today. I typically work as head communications technician up in the bridge, which will be one of our later destinations."

There's a loud snort, and everyone turns to see Mei, slinking along the corridor and next to a few of the somewhat frightened girls.

"Tabs, you're too soft, I can't hear you back here," she shouts with obnoxious loudness. She slings her arm over the recruit closest to her, and to Tabs's horror, it's his sister Ryoko. "You should just let Jenhao do the tours, you know? You're seriously milking it up, calling yourself the head tech up in the—"

Mei trips.

Jinlin, Jenhao, and Tabs stare incredulously.

Mei stands.

"Did you just trip me?" she asks Ryoko, viciously dark.

"No," she answers. She's a sun-freckled character, with a roundish figure unlike that of her lanky older brother. But they have the same olive-flecked brown eyes and plain, lackluster hair, with similar contours to their ski-jump noses. Her voice, however, is unwavering, determined, unlike her nervous brother who is, in essence, worrying her.

"I don't think you _understand_," Mei hisses, now pinning the girl against the bulwark. The poor thing has gone silent, eyes flashing completely blank because she's shocked and everyone is staring. "That's not the answer I'm looking for. Did you or did you not trip me?"

"No, ma'am." The whisper ekes out its existence in fear, draining the girl of her Yato blood and filling her with terror in the face of Mei's officious terrorism.

Tabs looks like he wants to curl up in the ball, grab Mei and throttle her, and give his sister a hug all at once.

Zenshi places a hand on Mei's shoulder.

"Petty Officer," he says, so coldly that even the strongest of the young bunch exchange wary glances.

Mei doesn't move, and suddenly Tabs knows that it's on purpose, everything's on purpose, and the way Zenshi has sequestered a good portion of the poor farmer folk — some of which he recognizes from way back when — that this is a plan.

For a moment, it looks as if the lieutenant's fiery aide is not going to stand down, but she relents and releases the jacket collar of Ryoko, Tabs's younger sister. And then, without even pausing for a moment, she throws the girl to the floor and starts screaming such extreme profanities that most of the new recruits must think her insane.

Of course, as Jinlin and Jenhao fold their arms and smile beneath their masks of nonchalance, Zenshi repeats himself with overt irritation. Their lieutenant is a scary person, to say the least, when he's not happy. In fact, his squad is trying to hide smiles now, especially since he has taken Mei by the arm, thrown her aside, stepped on her flailing arms, and offered a hand to poor, spooked Ryoko.

The brunette accepts cautiously, placing her weather-worn, calloused hand in his larger one. She practically floats to her feet because Zenshi pulls her up so gracefully, whilst still patronizingly trampling his aide beneath his boots.

"Lieutenant, sir," Mei growls, "will you get off of—"

Zenshi moves his foot so that he's now pressing down on part of Mei's cheek and part of her jaw. He never even says _no_, but it's clear.

"Your impudence makes us seem like brutes, Mei," he drawls, bored. "And that just ruins this tour, hmm?"

"And you're stepping on your aide, what a great example," she manages, as he relents and walks away, a hand on Ryoko's shoulder and guiding her back to the group.

"And that," Jinlin picks up quickly, "is why I told you not to irritate your superiors."

She flashes a smile before adding, "There are three people specifically you should avoid when they're in bad moods. And this man would be one of them."

Zenshi brushes past her, very casually ordering for a gate release, because half of this massive Yato crew is going home. Actually, they're going to an international business and job application center neighboring Ocentisa, and when Tabs comes by later blubbering with tears and asking how and why and when and just _how_ again, Zenshi simply turns and tells him:

"You said it yourself — I'm bloody rich, aren't I?"

The crew, after that, silently smiles, because they don't forget those rare acts of kindness.

* * *

><p>So yes, Zenshi just used his father's prestige to pay off the Harusame and send a bunch of random kids to potential jobs.<p>

Uh. This was hard, but I wanted to do a little on Tabs.

I've got a decent design of Tabs, and some of Zenshi's squad have been drawn.

I drew Linter uhuhuehuehue.


	43. - Forty-Three -

Uhooo a little surprise for you.

**Fun facts!**

**Ch. 42: **Ryoko literally means travel/trip in Japanese lolololol.

**Disclaimer: Sorachiiii.**

**Author's note: **I ship, like, everything. I ship Sakamutsu, KatsuIku, Okikagu, Kontae, Kyutae, HijiMitsu, Takamui, TakaMata, Bantaka, BanMata... I ship GinTsu, GinHiji, TsuSaru (is that even what it's called?!) ... I ship aHHHHHH.

But this is a ZenTsu fic.

And ZenTsu you will get.

OHOHOOHO.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 43 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

There are smiles hidden behind hands when Tabs embraces his little sister, who is so relieved that she bursts into tears and the two don't stop crying for a good five minutes.

* * *

><p><strong>.: AUGUST, PRESENT :.<strong>

The whole ordeal took them to the end the month, and when they all grew tired of the police constantly knocking at their doors and chirping away at odd hours of the knife, they left it up to the blazing sun to keep them listlessly doing nothing at home.

"It's the last day of August," Seita announced, mumbling through a glass of lemonade. "Let's _do_ something."

For the boy, his summer break, which began sometime in July, was coming to an end. With the first trimester over, September dawned with the listless anxiety of another school term until late December, threatening Seita's recent lethargic way of life.

Interestingly enough, the boy chose one of the last days of his vacation to actually get to his feet and do something other than witness the near-destruction of Yoshiwara and the courtesan incident that shook the nation's core.

"Let's go the pool," he said at breakfast, despite the fact that no one was listening. Zenshi, who wore a dark uniform, must've been suffering in the blistering heat; it was good reason for his miserly attitude with words. He hardly even spoke to Seita, having shed his Yato-style uniform and exchanged it for a simple gray T-shirt and tan slacks that Hinowa had very kindly purchased for him.

"I would take you if I could, honey," Hinowa slurred mildly, the heat taking its toll on the beautiful former courtesan.

"Tsukuyo-nee," pleaded the boy, "can we go to the pool? Like we did last time?"

"I ain't the one to decide," replied the blonde. "You should consider Zenshi, who got shot in the shoulder not too long ago."

"He's a Yato."

"_Seita_," reprimanded Hinowa, "that's not a fair reason. A mature adult is the judge of his or her own wellness."

"Well, you weren't well and yet you stayed up—"

"Let's head up, then." Zenshi gently pulled the boy by the arm out of his seat before he could offend his mother any further. "You need a walk."

"I need a walk? I think you all need a walk. I'm not the unreasonable one. You guys are."

"Don't forget yer umbrella," Tsukuyo hastily reminded, scooping up the dark blue parasol and handing it to Zenshi. He passed her a curious glance, as if to ask if she was coming or not. "There was some, uh, work to be finished over here. The Hyakka were askin' 'bout a drug deal uptown."

He nodded, and Seita huffily stomped out of the parlor, with Zenshi trailing close behind. Tsukuyo, lingering in by the table, let out a shuddering exhale.

"Do ya think he'll be angry?" she asked quietly, once the two males were out of earshot. Hinowa smiled briefly, wrapping her fingers around her cold beverage glass.

"He'd be more patient than last time," she conceded, nodding and watching her clear cup frost over with the chill of the drink. "He cares about you, so it's only natural he'd be upset."

Tsukuyo's ears slightly reddened, but she didn't address that aspect any further.

"Sarutobi said that our bomber is the same one the Harusame used ta take out that Yato buildin'. A hired hit."

"I looked at the envelope," confirmed Hinowa, nodding. "Do you know who hired the hit on _us_, though?"

"I'm guessin' Harusame. But the evidence is slim."

"Those bank account issues were completely unconnected, weren't they?" Hinowa took a sip of her lemonade, frowning. "So what's the motive?"

"That's what I need to know. That why we're followin' the bastard inta space."

"Stay safe, Tsukuyo." The older woman placed a firm hand on the blonde's, somber.

"Always, Hinowa." The moon reflected a piece of the sun's reassuring light, making sure to always remember that there was a dark side, forever unveiled to the eye of the beholder. It was, to a fault, Tsukuyo's way of protecting people.

She just never told.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The Harusame receives a letter labeling severe misconduct, but Kamui throws it out. In fact, he believes that they have just made a venture of greater economic and political benefit than loss. In this scenario, Abuto is a decrepit, tightfisted old stinger whose venom has lost its zing. The vice-captain reluctantly agrees to the relinquishing of the weaker, younger half of recruits, and authorizes the deal with an international amnesty and business organization that swoops by and picks up the children and zooms them off to, most likely, a school or local galactic association for youths.

"What would you have done if your own sister had enlisted, _Danchou_?" Abuto asks, the question slung easily along the line of conversation as if he'd simply hooked up another shirt to the clothesline to dry.

Kamui shakes his head; Abuto knows the answer, and it's not the one the redhead gives.

"The more the merrier."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Yer not gonna say anythin'?"

He shook his head.

"So suddenly, yer on board with my plan? Ready to accept this? Not goin' to claim that I'm crazy for wanting to chase a hunch into space?" Tsukuyo, unnerved by Zenshi's pithy agreement, exhaled slowly. "Let me guess. You want to come with?"

"I do, Ms. Tsukuyo, happen to have two suitcases full of money that I've supposedly been ordered to utilize in Sciuttla."

"Don't talk to me with that tone," Tsukuyo suddenly snapped. She couldn't help herself — his tone was eloquent yet patronizing on such an understated level that it prickled her skin.

Culled from further conversation, he shrank back into his predilection for favoring silence over speech. They sat in the guest room, which was probably "his" room now that he'd boarded there for a good time. He loathed the concept of a freeloader, so day in and day out he was either trailing after Tsukuyo by Hinowa's request or performing even the most menial tasks for the little family the best he could. He proved to be an efficient assistant in household chores, helping where Hinowa could not, restricted to her rolling chair as she was. The Yato was also preferable over local carpenters — his ability to very deftly install a new refrigerated turned out to be a wonderful thing.

Tsukuyo was kneeling at the other end of his cot. They often found themselves in such silence, pondering nothing and everything all at once. She was mystifyingly comfortable sitting across from him, and he discovered that a tired but relaxed Tsukuyo reclining casually on his pillow was an occurrence he grew fond of. The second day of the month, after Seita had set off with a few schoolmates in the direction of the department stores in search of new school supplies, Tsukuyo had made herself a comfortable presence in his room. It had been a nice twenty minutes, spent in the quiet hum of the house, both of them drawing pictures on the ceiling with their imaginations.

"Ya never told me wha—" Tsukuyo faltered. "W-what are ya doin'?"

Zenshi didn't answer. Arbitrarily overcome with the desire to let down her hair, he'd reached over and plucked the ribbon of her updo swiftly from her head. The little ornaments that fell from her soft tresses trickled into his palms and he closed his hands around them, setting them aside.

"What are you doin'?" she repeated, despite allowing him to bring his hand to her forehead and brush her bangs from her brow. He noticed the slight flush on her face when his hand lingered by her cheek.

"You looked tense," was all he offered, as if it was reason enough. The Yato followed her eyes, which flickered downwards as she thought of a reply, and then up again to meet his. She shied under the intensity of his answering gaze, but didn't move away.

Zenshi briefly noted the time, displayed on a lonely, owlish clock sitting across the room on a shelf. It was a few minutes past midnight, and Tsukuyo usually stayed until then, exchanging random bits of conversation from their day, what she'd done with the Hyakka, how the work had been. And he'd share the occasional comment or two about Edo that he'd discovered, and he went as far as to admit some of the odd things he noticed of Earthlings, which always made him smile. The night before, he'd shared that he found mayonnaise to be the oddest substance — he didn't see it at home, and it wasn't popular with the Yato — and she laughed aloud.

Today, however, Tsukuyo surprised him.

"Tell me about yerself again," she requested, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Her day had been long and she looked sleepy, but earnestly waited for his reply.

"You only have one question left," he informed her.

"I know. I'm just askin' for a review of all your others." A sly smile displayed itself flippantly on her lips. "Or give me an interestin' fact. And I'll give you one of mine."

He returned her smile through the softening of his expression. "Deal."

For a moment, he watched her finger the one sleeve of her decorated kimono, and realized she was cold. Without ever questioning her or allowing her to answer, he pulled out the blanket from atop the cot and let it fall gently around her shoulders. Neither of them really took notice of it, but the fact that the blanket was there, a sort of implicit barrier between them, allowed the two to sidle a bit closer together.

"Interesting fact," Zenshi mused aloud. "I've got one."

She nodded encouragingly.

"You know Mutsu," he began, only continuing when she nodded once more. "She's my cousin."

"Really?" Tsukuyo, drawing the coverlet closer to her, tipped her head to one side and considered this fact. "You seemed to know her well."

"Not quite," he replied. "Just on business occasions. And yourself?"

At this, Tsukuyo seemed reverted to her terse, closed self, almost mirroring his own unwillingness to speak. But his proximity and his frankness curtailed those thoughts, and she shared her own.

"Your question," she started, "about Gintoki. My master, well, he once expressed disappointment because I'd fallen for…"

She trailed off, but he didn't need a definitive finish.

But he thanked her, even if it was just briefly, for answering.

"Was that sarcasm?" She chanced a smirk.

"No," he whispered, scooping her hair ornaments into his hand and taking her by the wrist. He let her hand fit gently into his own, and closed her fist around the kunai-shaped adornment and the dull red ribbon. To his surprise, she didn't recoil, but only studied the cradle of her fingers in his palm.

"Don't be sarcastic," she replied, just as softly. "Yer reputation's on the line."

"My reputation?" There was a smile playing on his face, a lightness that he typically suppressed coming forth. They were close, very close now, and neither of them really realized until she leaned forward just a tad and their foreheads touched.

The courtesan and the Yato yawned away from one another hesitantly, Tsukuyo pulling her hand from his and ducking into the cape of his covers. Her face was stricken with indecisiveness, confusion, and a flush of pink.

"I should go," she announced hurriedly, pushing the blanket from her shoulders, but he swiftly caught her wrist in a gentle clasp. The blonde, a touch startled, made the diligent effort to compose her facial expressions. He was usually a passive character around her, careful not to provoke in the extreme, and never troubling her.

"Stay," he said, in a low voice. There was a soft yet compelling undertone to the way he said the word, and she couldn't bring herself to stand up.

So she stayed, relinquishing her quivering nerves to the lulled, swinging comfort beside him. Neither could be sure of their situation, for they dallied from confident exchanges to strung silences.

But whatever the last feeling, Zenshi saw sunrise with his head next to hers and her hand slipped easily into his.

* * *

><p>*cries because they are so fun yet hard to write*<p>

Tell me one thing though: is this going to fast? Is it okay?!

IS IT OKAY TO HOLD HANDS?!

HOW MANY EYE CONTACT UNTIL HOLDING HANDS?! WHAT IS THE EQUATION

aHHHHHHHH


	44. - Forty-Four -

*cries because hoW DO YOU ROMANCE*

**Disclaimer: Gintama belongs to Sorachi, but Zenshi and co. are my brainchildren. **

**Also.**

**hOW DO YOU ROMANCE**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 44 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Mei rubs her cheek, smoothing a hand along her jaw with an irate look devised on her sharp, angular features.

"You stepped on me _hard_," she complains. "The plan was for you to make me step down as an overly aggressive officer, not for you to literally step on me."

"All's well that ends well," Tabs interjects before Zenshi can answer.

"I don't care, my face hurts."

"You didn't care about me and my sister?" Tabs feigns hurt, though he knows Mei too well to actually take offense.

"Of course not. I cared that Lieutenant Cool Guy over here stepped on _my face_."

"He does it often enough," sighs Tabs.

"You should learn from Tabs, Mei," deadpans Zenshi, earning him a sour look from his right hand woman.

"Right. Let's all become Tabs. Tabs the Great, Tabs the Glorious!"

"Hey," Tabs mutters, glaring.

"Hey, hey, Tabatin, hey, hey," she mocks.

"Whatever," snorts Tabs, rocking back on his heels. "You're just mad that now the others think you're crazy."

"She _is_ crazy," justifies Zenshi.

"Well now they'll stay off my case," replies Mei, confident.

"Yeah, 'stay away from Mei the cray-cray'," laughs Tabs, risking a light elbow jab to Mei's arm. She rolls her eyes as she saunters away from the two men, looking like she might throw one of them out the window — probably Tabs — but yet struck with a tinge of appreciative humor on her lips.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

The exhilaration coursing through his veins differed greatly from the Yato blood that constituted his biological being. The essence, the dispersion of different ripples of emotion, they were all strange and foreign to him. He didn't dare move a single muscle; only their hands touched, and though the weight of another's fingers entangled with his own had become familiar, just the sight and the knowledge were peculiar. He studied her knuckles, her slender fingers, her nails.

Zenshi paused, sensing that she stirred. Rather deficient in experience within such a predicament, he simply redirected his focus, closing his eyes and appearing to feign sleep again. When Tsukuyo was aroused from her sleep, he felt her muscles tense and relax, tense and relax. His grasp was slackened, but she hadn't relinquished his hand.

She, too, pretended to be at rest, letting their hands linger.

But then:

"I know yer awake."

His eyes flickered open and he studied her expression, half hidden beneath a curtain of gold-spun hair. She focused briefly on their clasped hands. When she didn't withdraw, he did. Tsukuyo hid her mild disappointment almost completely, blinking rapidly for a few seconds before tucking neatly beneath her façade of cool nonchalance again.

"I'm meetin' with the merchants today," she announced, sitting up and raking her hand through her hair, combing it behind her ears. Zenshi was tempted to tell her that she had a pillow crease on her cheek, but the moment was gone and he couldn't form the words on his tongue. "We're leavin' in a week."

Zenshi sighed; he pushed to his feet and followed her to the door, where she straightened her ruffled kimono and continued patting down her hair.

"You really don't have anythin' to say? You really changed yer mind?"

"If it's what you want, I'll listen." Zenshi swiftly took her wrist, lifting her hand palm up so that he could tuck her hair ornaments into her hands, just as he did the night before. "Don't forget these."

"Oh, thanks." Tsukuyo was dubious of his relenting manner, but was averse to ruining the rather peaceful milieu. "We, um, I—"

"Tsukuyo-nee, Tsukuyo-nee!"

Seita bounded down the hall, moving with such reckless speed that he nearly bowled the woman over. Almost instantaneously, Zenshi dropped her hands and withdrew into a reserved, inscrutable expression. Tsukuyo's attention flew from Zenshi to Seita to Zenshi and finally settled on the little boy whose rapid flinging of words was incomprehensible.

"Seita, slow down. What are ya talkin' about?" Tsukuyo demanded, after first lambasting the boy for his overly garrulous excitement.

"It's amazing, Tsukuyo-nee! The Bakufu has opened relations to a new set of foreign governments!"

At this, the two adults looked skeptically at Seita's beaming face. But they waited, and the boy breathlessly went on.

"And Soyo-hime is doing a publicity tour, and she's coming _here_!"

His eyes gleamed and if he could grin wider, his lips would split his face from ear to ear. First, one would be expected to guffaw at the fact that the young princess was going to visit a red-light district. But second, one should note the fact that the undaunted admiration that twinkled in Seita's eyes was not to be mistaken with worshipful awe — instead, it was truly and fully what one would call… a crush.

* * *

><p><strong>.: -HARUSAME 7th DIVISION- End of AUGUST:.<strong>

"Explain to me again why we're traveling with these humans?" Mei scoffed disdainfully, looking like a cat with ears flattened and tail low. Anyone who displeased her was immediately hissed at; as such, Jinlin and her new squad member stayed relatively reserved throughout the entire meeting, chancing only tentative reminders to their brash lieutenant.

"Well we owe them," Abuto offered, "somewhat. And we've deemed it beneficial to add Earthling's to our web of 'allies', one might call them, because Earth's Bakufu is a rough bull to ride."

"They're terrorists," Mei stated.

"And that makes them powerful influences," Abuto justified. But actually, they all knew that he, too, was uneasy with the so-called joint commission. Kamui simply whistled about cheerfully, from time to time frequenting the Kiheitai ship with smiles and curious glances over shoulders. The humans that visited their main ship were tentative and suspicious. It didn't mean that Mei didn't like them as individuals. It just meant she didn't like that they'd met under these circumstances. In fact, she quite liked the spunky, snarky blonde from the Kiheitai's cabinet of top officers. Their aloof musician with the blaring music and stylish shades reminded her a bit of Zenshi in his deliberate distance from communications and the subtle evaluations of his surroundings at all times.

"It makes us pawns."

"They're the pawns," Abuto replied tiredly.

At the head of the table, Kamui had progressed from whistling to humming to peeling a few tangerines and popping them slice by slice into his mouth. He eventually grew impatient and took to devouring entire citrus fruits in one bite, tossing the tangy peel into a growing pile on the table.

"They're interesting," he said, once finished with his fifty-second tangerine. "I think they'll be useful. They'll lead us back to that silver samurai."

Again, Kamui's obsessions, which often dominated their course of action, had returned to the cabin. Now admiral of this "leaky boat crew," Kamui's word was law. Though Mei had triumphed in the fact that Kamui had taken out Gorou's 8th Division with flawless ease, she was wary of her commander's newfound power.

"And the former lieutenant?" prompted Mei. At this, Abuto flashed her the briefest of warning glances. Behind him, two of his aides twisted their silver rings, all on the left index fingers. She caught the hint but undauntedly refused to relinquish her frustration. "Are we to just leave him on Earth?"

"Oh he'll find himself owning up to his sins," Kamui lightly addressed. "After all, it's inevitable. Running into the samurai will only bring him closer to us."

There was a lack of maliciousness in Kamui's voice, as if the boy with hair like blood-orange garnet lacked the usual luster to his frothy Yato blood. Mei let it go.

"Where to, then?" she continued.

"Sciuttla." Kamui stood, motioning for Abuto to come with. "We've got some unfinished business."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Seita's apparent infatuation with the nation's princess was so blatantly displayed on his enamored expressions that Zenshi abstained from answering any questions. For one, the boy was awfully insistent, especially when he asked if Zenshi had a certain lady in his life.

"I think you would," said the boy. "You look like the cool type."

Hinowa smiled pleasantly, noting the tentative exchange of silence between the Yato and the leading lady of Yoshiwara.

"I'm sure," she prompted, almost mischievously, eyeing Tsukuyo's intensified glare and Zenshi subsequent retreat into wordless fermata. "Do tell."

At this, he inwardly grimaced because now he couldn't avoid the conversation.

"Perhaps," he supplied as neutrally as possible. His gaze strayed, but kept carefully from reaching Tsukuyo. She folded her hands primly on the table, and he couldn't help but study her slim fingers for a short moment.

"Who?"

Zenshi absolutely wished or his title of lieutenant once again, and on top of that he wished Seita was Mei, just so that he could tell her to shut up without feeling any sort of sheepishness.

"You might've seen her before." He'd been tempted to tell the boy to guess, but that had so many dangerous stretches of thin ice that he couldn't risk it. Instead, Zenshi broadened the topic just slightly, hoping that he could insinuate just about anyone. In fact, this route could even suggest Mei, whom Seita had a near-death experience with. Then again, Seita was apt to assume Tsukuyo, who was sitting right next to him, despite the fact that there was no concrete evidence of anything between the courtesan and the Yato.

Unless he counted last night.

Why had he reached for her? Was it simply an anomaly? He certainly wasn't delusional, and his system was rather clear and he was healthy. His adeptness in conversation was always articulate and astute. He'd grappled with dismay upon the dulling of his senses, but realized that he'd simply been thinking too hard. Everything came to him in crisp, clean lines — he sensed the environment with more acuity than ever before.

Yet he'd desired to just touch her hair, which shimmered before him like gold, even though his eyes saw only the pale, wheat-blonde strands he'd so gingerly let slip through his fingers. There was ardent warmth in his hands, imprinted with the elusive yet announced memory of her palm touching his.

"I have?" Seita, with his pancakes again, appeared dubious. "Are you gonna tell me?"

Zenshi shook his head ever so slightly. Tsukuyo, ever perceptive, watched her Yato companion carefully. They exchanged exactly one glance that entire morning, but no true consensus was reached. She could not tell if she was the subject of his vague, deterred response — only a dearth of feeling and a pressured gaze in her direction.

Seita, instead of becoming dejected, only beamed.

"Well, guess what? I know a pretty girl."

* * *

><p>nO Seita, no.<p>

aH.

HOW DOES ONE ROMANCE.

HOW DO YOU WRITE LOVe

HOW

okay guys, if you do review, can you tell me how I'm doin'?


	45. - Forty-Five -

*cries because the lovey-dovey scenes come so slowly*

**Fun facts!**

**Ch. 44: **Mei saying "Hey, hey, Tabatin, hey, hey!" is a direct parody of Gintoki saying "Hey, Takatin, hey, hey!" in that one Otsuu's official fan club vs. TOSHI in Otsuu's competition arc.

**Disclaimer: Gintamannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 45 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Mutsu twisted the silver band around her finger, dropping her hand when she noticed Zenshi staring at it. She shook her head, denying his silent inquiry.

"Is there a cult I'm being excluded from?" For him, the silver ring was not unfamiliar. It was the flash of metal that reoccurred in effusive, surreal shapes within the rare nightmares. It often accompanied a morphed vision of the back of a spaceship and an elongated face, belonging to a girl with platinum blonde hair.

"You're included. You just have a different membership badge." Mutsu didn't explain. "By the way, don't put those suitcases there. Our captain might hide in one and get thrown out to sea."

She was completely serious, so he took heed of this information.

Tsukuyo, who had been wandering with intensive interest about the ship, stopped to talk to the four Hyakka women accompanying her. Zenshi had acute hearing, but only picked up a few words — "Harusame; bank account; patterns" — above the hum of the ship's central generator.

"_Deck hands to the bridge, deck hands to the bridge_," came a voice.

"We're about to leave. Let's go inside." Mutsu guided her unusual guests to the bridge, where she settled in an authoritative chair that ejected Sakamoto when he was present, and surrounded her in glowing panels.

"Mutsu, Mutsu hold on, I feel kind of sick." Sakamoto, whose face was a sickening shade of almost green, grabbed the brunette's arm. His glasses slipped sloppily down his nose as his eyes widened.

"We're not waiting for you. We have a schedule to follow." She brusquely ordered the men to prepare for takeoff; the water beneath their ship in Edo's harbor shimmered and rippled. "We have the 9:30 AM slot for private takeoff at the Terminal. If we miss it even by a minute, they won't let us in. We've only got a five minute interval to get in and get through that portal. Let's go."

She shoved Sakamoto off of her; he was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor.

"Tough love," Tsukuyo muttered.

"Talk to me about it," grumbled Mutsu, scanning the ship's statuses, which popped up all over the screens.

"Mutsu," hissed Sakamoto. "Mutsu, we're forgetting something."

"We're not. Shut up."

"_M-M-Mutsu._ We're definitely forgetting something." The man looked anxious, and Zenshi soon determined why. The ship was rocking slightly, which was relatively normal when sailing through the ocean or simply cruising the air in the fashion of a passenger plane, but the regular, faded hum of the ship simply had a strange pitch to it.

"Your gravity core has only activated one-fourth of its mass chambers," Zenshi told Mutsu flatly. "Your ship does have a four-chamber core, correct?"

"Yes." Mutsu glanced up at her cousin before returning to the screens, flipping efficiently until she found a scrolling of inner blueprint mechanisms. The more powerful ship cores were capable of utilizing fractions of their energy sources, making for balance on the ship when entering different magnetic and gravitational ranges in space. On Earth, they didn't quite need to turn it on, but since they were going to enter the Terminal straightaway, all four chambers needed to be at least activated, if not employed.

Mutsu found the gravity core's current conditions.

"You're right. How did you know?" There was a pleased smirk on her face, somewhat impressed.

"You can tell by the sound," Zenshi informed her. "The four-chamber core will give off a high-pitch whine when reduced to one level."

Tsukuyo and her women, rather lost, simply admired the easy conversation between Zenshi and the other Yato. Sakamoto, at the least, had been right. He, too, could recognize the ship's sounds with a skilled ear, but had trouble conveying it explicitly to his vice-captain. It was a downfall that caused him much pain by the hand of the irritable Mutsu.

"I forgot," admitted Mutsu. "We need to turn them all on to enter the Terminal."

"It's better to set this—" Zenshi reached over her shoulder and tapped a setting on the touch screen, "—instead of this."

The lookers-on simply watched the elaborate menu of options become simpler and simpler until the standards for the ship were ideal.

"You know your ships," Mutsu said appreciatively.

"How do you think I got out?" It was a halfhearted joke, but she found it funny enough.

From a former pirate's point of view, that is.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWENTY YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The blow comes so hard that it takes all of his might to repel the momentum and stagger back on his heels. His forearms come away bruised from defending so fiercely.

"Your performance is poor," Hosen calls across the room, his deep voice resounding in a daunting boom. Each word ricochets off the walls and embeds itself within Zenshi's mind like dogmatic parasites, forever echoing in his ears.

The fierce king of the Yato doesn't hold back, and after crossing the room with three effortless strides, he seizes Zenshi by the collar and lifts him.

"There is strength in your blood," Hosen tells him. "Your father has strength built into the marrow of his very bones."

Zenshi thinks of his mother, but not because she's an example of a peaceful Yato, but because he's honestly terrified. He's about seven years old, then, and it's an age that sees his closed lips and quiet shudders. Hosen accepts the boy's entrenched quietude, but is never very kind.

"Speak, boy," orders the old Yato.

Zenshi swallows.

"Hosen-sama," says the boy, hardly a whisper scratching through his throat.

"I will teach you to spar, so long as you remember to have strength in your stance—" Hosen puts him down and nearly crushes those thin shoulders in his iron grip "—and recall your many forms of strength."

"Many forms?"

"Your father has many forms of strength. He finds power in words and in combat. But they have equaling effects on one another, and therefore it is deemed a different strength." Hosen takes Zenshi's hand and forces him to ball it into a fist. "When you swing, swing with your blood."

Hosen's teachings require the concentration of inner energy, a sort of _qi_ flow, that he recognizes as the harmony of Yato blood and self-coordination.

"Do you admire your father, boy?"

At this age, he does. Zenshi nods.

"You forget your many forms. Speak."

"I admire my father very much." Zenshi tenses his thin arm against Hosen's palm, which the man has offered for him to strike. Despite his concentration, the little one is hardly a fly, landing whimsically on the man's hand.

"You have his eyes and his voice," Hosen acknowledges gruffly. "A manipulative one, your father is."

Zenshi doesn't understand, though. He only soaks in the clear, blunt information, the fighting technicalities that his genome devours with exhilaration. His legs are sore and his arms ache terribly — he's often black and blue for the next twenty or so hours, to his mother's shock and his aunt's concerned dismay — but he fights. He learns the weight of a parasol in his hands, he learns the depth to which he must strike "with his blood" to produce a cut in another's flesh with his fingers alone.

Sometimes, when his father is home, there comes the rare occasion where the practices are watched. Hosen is patient, seeing as while he bides his time in a sectional hunt for power, his main occupation for this short interval is training a young boy.

"You've taught him to strike well," Linter notes one day. Zenshi is shaking, whether out of fatigue or the pressure of his father's gaze, he cannot tell.

"He learns quickly." Hosen folds his arm. "How does the international front appear?"

"The young President Hittomahn is adamant that his planet remains neutral in all affairs, but his Secretary of State is willing to negotiate. The situation seems well for the time being."

"Sometimes I wonder if you are a lawyer or a politician."

"Neither." Linter nods at Zenshi. "But if I am anything, I am a father. At least, when the occupation permits."

"You are more of a king than a politician," decides Hosen. "No, a dictator."

"Of what?"

"Of everything."

Linter laughs, and it's a charismatic laugh that captures all the right tones, comforting and smooth, yet with an elusive magnetism that leaves one wondering if he had actually even smiled.

"Brilliant, Hosen," he endorses. The man strides over to his son. "But I'd like to see what my son has learned."

"He has learned plenty," Hosen informs the father. "He will cut through steel if I ask him to."

"Oya? Is that so, Zenshi?" Linter sets a fond hand on his son's head, affectionately ruffling the longish blue-black hair that matched his own. Zenshi found that, despite his father's long absences, he was always indisputably drawn to the man, enraptured by the deceptively kind smile. At this point, he's thoroughly convinced that his father loves them. In fact, Linter does — it's only many years down the line that Zenshi becomes dynamically antagonistic to his father.

"Ma wants to see you," is all the boy manages in his little voice.

"Does she?" It's as if his father only asks questions all the time, and even answers questions with questions. Zenshi sought something concrete, but never received it.

"She misses you."

"Is that so." There is melancholy in the man's face, but it recants itself and is replaced by a substantive smile. There's not a single question left in the man, but for his son's sake, he pretends he still does. "Now, you should thank your teacher for the day. We'd better head home early."

Zenshi turns and thanks Hosen, a tad louder than usual because his father's presence bolsters his voice.

"Your performance was rather decent today," Hosen tells him. "You remembered more than last time."

They bid the king goodbye, and Zenshi finds himself trailing after his father, umbrella open overhead. The rain patters softly. He leaps from toe to toe, avoiding the puddles where other children would have excitedly splashed in them. The buildings that rise like giants that efface the sky are gloomy, reflecting the dismal, constant overcast.

The father and son reach their abode, tucked away just like all other Yato residences are. Zenshi finds that he has grown taller — the skinny pipe he used to skate his fingers along as he walked home was now too low to comfortably keep a hand on. Dark days would have him following the pipeline to his door, but now it simply rusted over out of reach of his fingertips.

The door is locked; Zenshi is young and typically doesn't carry a key. His trips to and from Hosen's larger, more elaborate dwelling are delineated by public walkways and mostly safe routes. With his new training, his mother tries not to worry, leaving the boy to his own. And Linter, who is always gone, has no need for a key. The man and the boy both rely on knocking, to which their lady will promptly respond.

"Zenshi, you're earl—"

She staggers in her words, discovering that the figure that fills most of the doorway isn't her son, but her husband.

"Are you going to let me in, or are Zenshi and I going to wait out the rain?" It's ironic because the rain rarely ever stops, just as Lanhua's lonely depression is endlessly cycling on highs and lows.

She steps aside hastily, but he catches her and embraces her.

"It's been too long," the wife says, almost in an argumentative tone. She scolds him, she gets mad, and it's something to which he replies with a reprehensible chuckle.

"I know, love. I know."

And it's in those moments that Zenshi remembers his family as a whole — and those moments only that he will bury forever, because they no longer exist.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

The Hyakka whispering in short, excitable tones behind them was rather unnerving. Having long since flown from Edo, Zenshi and Tsukuyo had left Mutsu and Sakamoto to their own in the bridge, and were casually touring one of the decks. The Yoshiwaran women, unsure of where to go, simply tagged along after their leading lady, who stood suspiciously close to the tall, aloof Yato in navy.

"So yer good with ships," Tsukuyo said.

"So it seems," he replied.

"Question twenty," she said abruptly, her stride extending into a brisk clip. He easily kept pace, while the Hyakka, who sensed that they were being left behind purposefully, hung back with stilted curiosity.

"So it finally appears," Zenshi said under his breath. Tsukuyo ignored this. "Well?"

"The other day, a few days before Soyo-hime toured Yoshiwara." Tsukuyo seemed to increase the speed of her walking, the tempo of her steps matching the fluttering anxiety strung stubbornly through her words. "Seita asked you somethin'. You know the one."

"Do I?"

She glared, and he sighed.

"Yes, you do." She stopped then, so suddenly that he nearly tripped over her as she turned to face him. In an impressive effort, he gracefully glided to her left and placed a nonchalant hand briefly on her shoulder.

"And?"

Tsukuyo, who seemed speculative of the short contact, synthesized a temperate attitude and an undaunted face of patience.

"Who were you referrin' to?"

* * *

><p>OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH<p>

OH OH OH

OHHHHHHHHH

...hey Takatin hey hey!

Hosen though!

And I totally didn't just make a sci-fi device, haha.


	46. - Forty-Six -

AHHH. Okay guys, I'll update this week and next week, but after that I have sports, so the intervals between may be longer...I promise to finish though.

If it's been a long time and I seemingly disappear, shoot me a message and I'll get back on task...somehow.

**Disclaimer: I only swim free.**

**WAIT**

**DISCLAIMER (actually though): Sorachi Hideaki**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 46 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

The light, soft on her face.

Her hair, straw spun into gold.

"You."

* * *

><p><strong>.: FIFTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He has met Prince Hata several times, but he never seems to remember the peculiar boy's name. In fact, Zenshi often tunes out the stubborn, senseless Amanto whose pinched voice buzzes into one ear and out the other.

"I love pets," announces Hata. He has a pronounced lisp and a high voice. "I have this wild boar-goat, you see."

Zenshi nods absently. Seeing as they are at the coronation of some foreign planet's queen — a peculiar Amanto girl who is literally a walking, talking swan — Hata's conversation is unpleasant and interruptive. Zenshi's father, who is one of the first to congratulate the young queen, thus earning him an abashed flutter of wings and a pleased dip of the swan-girl's elegant neck, throws Zenshi a nod. Zenshi, who usually can discern his father's gestures as well as his mother, is befuddled. Is he supposed to talk to the Prince Hata? Is he supposed to stand up and say hello to the queen? The latter is preferable, but the purple-skinned Amanto with the peculiar appendage wiggling out of his head never stops talking.

"You know what I just thought of?" Hata asks. "Swans. Swans are pretty." He calls to his supervisor, a haggard old man who looks like he wants to throw Hata out a window. "Jii, I want a pet swan. Get me that one."

He almost points at the Amanto queen, to their horror, but Zenshi simply stands and pushes his hand aside.

"It's a lovely coronation ceremony, isn't it?" interrupts the young Yato. "It's too bad I couldn't hear her say her oath."

The last part is emphasized with tactful disdain, and though the small, noisy Prince Hata is ignorant and slow to catch on, he recognizes the accusation this time around and zips his lips hesitantly. The prince, whose skin is a pale purple, grows slightly dark. He is a sycophant puppet, always seeking to please, but is slightly put off by the fact that his desires have been thwarted.

Zenshi ignores the prince for the rest of the ceremony. The follow-up party is a sweet, quaint concession that has the swan queen thanking her guests in a toast and her chefs serving them pleasant little hors d'oeuvres.

His father motions to him, and he obediently supplies his presence at the summons.

"This is my son," Linter says. The firm hand around Zenshi's shoulder is comforting, but the boy just wants to go home.

As the swan queen displays her pleasure in meeting the Yato boy, Zenshi automatically responds with a practiced smile and a polite greeting. Within him, however, he is gutted by nausea and unease, because he is just like Prince Hata:

A marionette dangling by its strings.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Tsukuyo flushed red, then. The light was harsh on them, an electric blue glare along the ship's halls. She made to say something, but it caught in her throat, and she choked it down with visible effort. Her fingers fiddled with her hair, pushing it repetitively behind her ears.

"Me?" she finally managed, biting her dry bottom lip.

"Yes, you." Zenshi turned and watched their progress through the thick window pane. "Seita asked if I had a significant lady in my life. Wouldn't you be offended if it wasn't you?"

He was smooth, too smooth. He made something so objectionable and ambiguous sound relatively persuading. His cover was opaque; she couldn't determine if he was expressing her first assumptions, or simply calling her a friend he has grown to appreciate.

"Of course I would," she replied robotically.

"If you weren't significant, what would you be?" And right then, he was reading her like a book, and she knew it. He was trite with his words, suggesting an ordeal of human nature. But then again, he wasn't a human, and she wondered to what extent he was a manipulative Yato.

No, that would be a misguided conjecture. Tsukuyo shook it from her thoughts and continued to attempt an answer.

"I'd hit ya to Mars," she stated as casually as possible. This broke his stoic, perspicacious play with words and expressions, urging a sigh of relief to build in her chest.

"We're passing Mars, actually." He pointed out the window. "There's the asteroid belt, and then a few hours after we pass it, there will be another space terminal."

The space terminals, which were probably wormholes — no one ever bothered with the specifics, because it either caused massive confusion or defied the laws of just about everything — were spaced throughout the galaxies in regular intervals. The biggest ones regulated the greatest traffic, with anything from little passenger space planes to colossal military warships cruising the stars.

They remained for a time, staring out at the passing figures. Spacecrafts were incredibly advanced nowadays, and what would have taken years to cross was sailed through in a matter of hours.

"There's dinner in the galley if you'd like," Mutsu said, when she found them still gazing out the observation deck in admiring silence. "We run on ship time, which will keep with Earth's twenty-four hour schedule. Since we're crossing through various areas of space, and you can probably guess that anything with the space portals warps time, the ship's clock is the most accurate clock. You'll just adjust to time change, like you would any other trip."

Mutsu glared at Zenshi, as if to ask why she had to explain everything.

"We keep by Earth time because a large majority of our crew is made of humans, and the Yato planet runs on nearly identical time." She readjusted her cloak, turning to Tsukuyo. "Your friends are already in the galley. They're a real friendly bunch, especially with our crew. Both our men and women really admire them."

"That's good ta hear," Tsukuyo said with a nod. "I'm glad."

"One of our chefs is an Amanto, but he makes good food. It's just like regular food, just in strange colors. I recommend everything he makes." Mutsu pointed down from where she'd come from, indicating the fastest route to the galley. "I hope you don't mind Amanto food, though, because the dessert is space jellyfish's tongue."

"That's her favorite," Zenshi suddenly interjected, an amused little smirk playing on his face.

"Oh really?" Mutsu smiled. "Good."

Tsukuyo lightheartedly slapped Zenshi's arm when the co-captain of the Kaientai left.

"Ya could've just explained all this space stuff to me yerself."

"And that would be fun?"

She pasted a sardonic smile on her face.

"Yes, it would."

* * *

><p><strong>.: Mid-SEPTEMBER, TWO WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

Soyo-hime came with a montage of guards that set the Hyakka on edge, but did not stir up much trouble. The only face that was heavily detested was the severe demon vice-chief, Hijikata. The man came sauntering up alongside the princess, but because the female enforcement of Yoshiwara never forgot a single complaint their boss uttered on any day at any hour, they recalled the man who refused to investigate publicly any further, despite Tsukuyo's urging.

Unreasonable? Probably.

Strange for the Hyakka and Tsukuyo? No.

"I've never been here," Soyo noted with a chipper smile. "It's pretty."

At this, several Shinsengumi officers grimaced but didn't comment. Soyo had very adamantly demanded to visit every corner of Edo, Yoshiwara included. She rode in the back of a stylish white convertible.

However, clashing rather inappropriately with the prim princess and her fancy car was a loud, mischievous Yato girl with scarlet hair and a strip of pickled seaweed sticking from her teeth. Kagura.

"Soyo-chan, I want you to meet my friends!" exclaimed Kagura, standing in the backseat to the driver's horror. "They live a little down that way! And then I'll show you the place where we opened the roof! And then where we defeated—"

"Hey, China, shut up." The light-haired officer with the hostile, deadened glare, struck at Kagura's head with his sheathed sword.

"You stupid sadist!" growled Kagura, grabbing the weapon. "Mind your own business, 'kay?!"

"This is my business."

"You're making Soyo-chan angry!"

"You know, _you're _making me angry."

"You stupid sadist!"

"You already said that, meatball head."

"Um," Soyo whispered, hesitantly. "Kagura-chan?"

"Who're ya callin' meatball head?!" hissed Kagura, gripping the officer by the collar. "Huh?! Who're you referrin' to?!"

"You." The young man took his sword and smacked Kagura upside the head. The Yato girl fell across Soyo's lap, but immediately scrambled up and tackled the officer with apoplectic vengeance.

"Kagura-chan…" Soyo had motioned for the driver to stop his slow, ambling parade down the streets. A woman and a man were standing with Kagura and the officer now, each one grabbing hold of the troublemakers.

"Since I've given fair warnin' in the past, and I'm in a bad mood, I won't give ya any leeway today." A firm hand lifted Kagura to her feet and away from the officer. "Any man who disrespects a woman here in Yoshiwara will be subject to appropriate punishment."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" The officer completely ignored the fact that Zenshi had him by the back of the collar, lifted about six inches off the ground. And completely nonchalantly as well, the Yato looking bored with his parasol leaning casually over his shoulder whilst the rest of the Shinsengumi croaked uncomfortably and watched their first division captain dangle in the air.

"Head of the Hyakka, Tsukuyo."

"Tsukki!" exclaimed Kagura, delighted. "Soyo-chan, this is my friend Tsukki, yes? She's the strongest lady in Yoshiwara!"

"Oh!" Soyo clasped her hands together, and when Tsukuyo turned to look at her, she said, "What a pleasure to meet you, Lady Tsukki."

The way Soyo so politely addressed Yoshiwara's queen was disconcerting. The princess was so sweet and so formal and so innocent, not realizing that "Tsukki" was just a nickname.

"Um, we're the police, and I can arrest you for assaulting me," said the officer. "And can you put me down?"

Zenshi let the light-haired boy down slowly, but had read the tension in the boy's limbs. Okita Sougo spun around like lightning, but his intentions were clear as day. He drew his sword with articulate grace, an artistry matched by few.

But the Yato was perceptive, attended by quick wit and his infamous "Lieutenant's sixth sense." Zenshi's hand glided up the dull side of the drawn blade, turning so that the end of the katana didn't even touch the back of his uniform. Letting the officer finish his swing, Zenshi intercepted the next move, keeping a keen eye on the boy's shoulders, which deliberated his every move.

"Your application of the sword," Zenshi told the younger man flatly, "is aesthetically pleasing. But your intentions are easily captured."

Zenshi's hand closed around Okita's grip on the sword handle, thumb digging into the inside of the official's wrist while his fingers pushed hard on the knuckles. It didn't quite disengage Okita's grip until he applied greater strength, cracking the boy's wrist down at such a harsh angle that Okita hissed as his fingers relinquished the sword.

"You basta—"

The Yato seized both of Okita's arms, kicking the sword out of the way and blocking the officer's forceful kick with a well-timed knee-to-gut counter. In an instant, the light-haired boy was pushed face first into Soyo-hime's car, his arms locked behind his back in Zenshi's stiff grip. Groaning lackadaisically, Okita relented with leery, narrowed eyes.

"Take that, you super S!" hollered Kagura, having thoroughly enjoyed the brief melee.

"Actually," Hijikata drawled unhurriedly, "we can still arrest you for assaulting a police officer."

"That would be a bad idea, yes?" Kagura sang. "Zen-chan can control the Bakufu."

They all made a strange face at the girl, who just smiled sweetly. Zenshi's expression was a motley of things, ranging from skepticism to exasperated denunciation.

"I'm sure he can," Okita muttered, brushing himself off and returning to his post beside Soyo. "Who are you, anyway? Amanto?" They took notice of Zenshi's umbrella and pale skin, traits that weren't covert anyway.

"I'm the Prince of the Planet Pheromones," Zenshi deliberated flatly, demarcating his lack of patience. He also picked up a ridiculous accent, sounding mildly like the rolled tongue of the swan peoples he'd met in a different lifetime. "I have political immunity, so I'd suggest you refrain from anything crass."

"This guy annoys me," Hijikata grumbled beneath his breath. For once, Okita seemed to agree. In a louder voice, the vice-commander continued, "We, the Shinsengumi, will remove any obstruction of justice, politically immune or not. Once justice is sought, you can bicker away with the Mimawarigumi about whatever."

"You may be the Shinsengumi, but the Bakufu ain't got a thing on Yoshiwara. The rule of thumb here belongs to the Hyakka." Tsukuyo, with cultivated elegance, stepped up to defend the denizens of the City of the Night.

"We're the police," Okita repeated blandly. "We call the shots."

"If you'd like to back your egregious claims, I can recommend a lawyer." Zenshi folded his arms. He educed irritation out of the men, but Kagura and the princess were rather delighted to see the exchange. Soyo, whose life had begun to spiral into wistful ennui, enjoyed any and all interactions. "But I do have a brilliant lawyer."

"Yeah, yerself," snorted Tsukuyo.

"Oh just drop it," snapped Hijikata, fickle and malleable when legal trouble loomed overhead. "We're supposed to be doing a tour for the princess. Don't give us any trouble."

"I'm not holding my breath," Zenshi told the man. Hijikata glared, but it was ineffectual.

"Good to know, Mr. Prince," Okita said dryly. "Good to know."

As Soyo and her entourage began to roll away again, Seita appeared, demanding to know why no one had told him of the little lady's arrival.

"S-S-Soyo-hime!" he stuttered, stumbling after the car. The younger sister of the Shogun beckoned her driver to stop again, to everyone's dismay, and waited for Seita to bound up to her. She leaned out the car door to greet the younger child.

"Hello," she chirped in her melodious voice. "And who might you be?"

"My name's Seita," panted the boy, exuding excitement and anticipation from every pore and every fiber. "I'm Hinowa's son. Hinowa is Yoshiwara's most beautiful courtesan, if you didn't know. I'm honored to meet you, Princess. I've only seen you during the big festivals."

"Nice to meet you too, Seita." Before Soyo could say anymore, Seita whipped a meager bouquet of daisies from behind his back.

"I picked these for you. I hope you like them!" And then, ducking away with a shy and infinitesimal smile, Seita ran back down the street and dove into his home parlor.

Soyo, with her hands grasped lightly around the flowers, smiled down the road.

"You may continue," she called to the driver, lifting the flowers to her nose. They had a soft, fresh scent, like a remnant of spring. She wondered where he had found them down here.

"He _liiiikes_ you," teased Kagura, grinning.

"Does he?" exclaimed Soyo.

"Soyo-chan, you're oblivious, yes?" Kagura, who enjoyed telling the princess inordinate tales of "an everyday commoner's life," began an interminable tale of star-crossed lovers. The Shinsengumi officers, who hung around the crawling car with detached disinterest, groaned inwardly.

From their street, Tsukuyo and Zenshi could only watch as the car shrank down the avenue and rounded a corner.

"Prince of Pheromones?" Tsukuyo asked, when they were gone. "Is that yer go-to for all things inconvenient?"

"Define inconvenient," Zenshi replied, leaning his umbrella over his head again.

"Well—" Tsukuyo paused, catching sight of Seita, who was leaning around the shop door, gazing down the road. "Well," she continued, reconsidering her sentence, "maybe instead of standing there like the useless Prince of Pheromones, you should help Seita make a nicer bouquet."

"And what makes you think I know a thing about making nice bouquets?"

* * *

><p>*gasp*<p>

cute

cuuute

(also, who caught the voice actor reference?!)


	47. - Forty-Seven -

Meh. Last one for today. Got projects to do!

**Fun facts:**

**Ch. 46: **Kagura saying "Who're you referrin' to?! HUH?!" to Sougo is basically a parody of Tsukuyo asking Zenshi who he was referring to. (lol)

**Ch. 46, voice actor reference: **If you didn't know, Kagura's seiyuu (voice actor), Kugimiya Rie, also voices Happy from Fairy Tail, who likes teasing people by saying "He _lliiiiiiiikes _you!"

**Disclaimer: Sie sind das ****_ichigo gunyuu _****und wir sind die ****_Gintoki_****.**

((((( 'nuff said ))))

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 47 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

The once pearly marble gates and limestone steps painted with strange, shimmering glazes of gold and silver, were miry ghosts of their past, glorious selves. The palettes of greens, blues, reds, yellows, and everything in between were decimated to broken fragments of stained glass windows, a rainbow dissolved in monolithic ruins.

"We're headed to the next city over, East Tomokaz," Mutsu told them. Sakamoto, who had been intermittently humming whenever he didn't feel nauseous, handed them a brochure.

"It used to be a popular vacationing place before political trouble," he announced. "Ahaha, these colors are great!"

Zenshi gave the pamphlet to Tsukuyo, who browsed scenes of happy couples and florid sights. The Yato stared out the window restlessly, recognizing what once used to be the stairs to the governor's home, the city hall. There was a particular street, broad and cobbled, where he briefly imagined a memory — a woman with baby blue skin and bright fuchsia scarves, evergreen boots, and a fancy updo, walking briskly with her identically blue son in a mustard yellow school uniform.

But all that remained was ash and dust and fragments of a happy town, a town that was probably on the back of postcards and on the covers of brochures. There were charred buildings, ravaged by fire; grisly remnants of public service buildings, blown to bits by a bomb; a garret, exposed to the sky because the roof had been shredded off its very supports, covered in gossamer webs and gaunt loneliness.

Every now and then, a body, colorful but grafted in debris and disturbingly gray.

"This town was a victim of a purge," Mutsu explained. "The military government, intent on establishing a totalitarian regime, has been destroying the 'free' towns that had garnered the support of enemy planets."

"Planets," echoed Tsukuyo.

"Yes, there is a trio of smaller planets in locked alliance against Sciuttla's military government. They have yet to actually declare war, but tensions are…tense." Mutsu made a face. "I believe they are trying to defend a doctrine of intervention in Sciuttla should the government system go awry, but this authoritarianism party obviously doesn't agree. That's about all I know. You'd have to ask that guy for more." She jerked a thumb at Zenshi.

"You knew about this?" Tsukuyo asked.

"I told you about it."

"Ya said somethin' about a civil war."

"I see." Zenshi was hardly in the mood to converse with her, now. He had indeed told her there was a civil war, but that was justifiable in his case. He'd simplified the story to deter her from going, but here they were anyway, and his words had little effect on her.

"Yer in a bad mood. Did ya get up on the wrong side of the bed?" Tsukuyo, whose jokes were poor to say the least, did not manage to cheer him up. He would have argued that the rooms on the ship had beds that pushed conveniently in the wall, thus ending up with only one side to get on and off, making her joke completely null and void, but he hadn't the heart to make fun of her.

"Zen?" Mutsu peered at her cousin's face, trying to discern meaning in his imperviously cold expression.

"Six months ago, I stood within that town hall. It stood as high as Hosen's palace in Yoshiwara."

The two women went quiet, respecting his unease.

But Zenshi turned to Mutsu.

"It's hard to kill your men, but it's harder to watch them die in each other's arms." At this, he turned and exited the bridge, an oppressive weight on his shoulders. Tsukuyo and Mutsu watched him go, the human and the Yato both sensing the incorporeal guilt that had materialized in the man's conscience.

"Do you know what…what happened here? Why he was here?" asked Tsukuyo.

Mutsu, with a forlorn glance at the passing, decimated town, shook her head.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, SIX MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

There is something tragic about the way Ensign Delong fights. The moment in which the indefatigable warrior recognized the plight of the children before him is the moment his own daughter's face must have flashed into his mind. He realizes it's something he cannot give up.

And the way his face spells out every single thought is heartbreaking.

Delong's intentions only become lucid when the adoptive mother of a trail of orphans cringes because Kamui has grabbed one child by the throat.

"I'm typically against killing women and children," says the captain with half libelous and half indulgent delight, "but there are certain people I agree with more, and they want you dead."

Kamui is not above the influence of the political intergalactic powers that dictate where the Harusame go and how they do their work. But he is not subject to the fanciful whims of rulers who simply want to create mass genocide or livid terrorism. Because Kamui, this time around, has found that the strongest assets lie within the military government — whose dictator is what the boy would deem a "worthy opponent" — there are nearly no qualms in killing these bystanders.

"You're a pawn," cries the woman, when the child suffocates beneath Kamui's grip. "Stop! Please, stop!" she adds, seeing Kamui's knelling glare.

"I'm a pawn? Oh, hardly. _You're_ a pawn, madam. Where is your husband now?"

"I don't need him to tell me to fight for our ideals, our dreams!" The woman clutches one of the orphans close to her. She has honey-olive skin and teal hair, and none of the children are her own, but they resemble her in her fierce defiance and determination to live.

"You know," Kamui says, "I don't like killing the little ones. But I'll gladly take thi—"

He whips around, raising an arm to parry the swing of Delong's umbrella, unable to seize the one child closest to him and paralyzed in fear.

Delong fights with jaunty grace, with an invidious strength and precision that accompanies his lithe and lissome technique well. He is always quite immodest, a gruff, obdurate, and masculine figure, but never ignorant or disrespectful to companions of any rank. His bloodlust has a macabre noxiousness that roars in the face of danger.

He is danger itself.

"_Don't touch the girl_," he hisses when Kamui takes a few measuring steps back. The girl who had been nearly caught by the clutches of the merciless commander wails and sprints to the middle of the cluster of children.

"Delong, wait!" And then there is Jenhao, followed by no one else because they are scattered, searching for the group that only Kamui has managed to sniff out. He's too late.

"Both of you?" Kamui assumes indifferently that both of them are traitors. "I'll kill both of you."

"How dare you," growls Delong, ossified now in his stance. "These children had parents. These children have _nothing_ to do with this."

"And what turned you, ensign?" Kamui has a hateful expression now. "Are you defending the woman, the children, or both? I don't understand."

"Of course you wouldn't, _Danchou_, you're a _child_," spits Delong. He's about to say something else, but suddenly he is face to face with Kamui, so close that they can hear each other breathing. Delong's black umbrella snaps under Kamui's heel and suddenly there is a massive pain in his jaw and he's flying backwards, crashing into the broken up gravel of a back road.

"I've made it so you can never say so again, ensign," Kamui announces apathetically. There is an impressive air within the curbing of his anger, which typically translates into bloodthirsty excitement. "Zen, come look. His jaw is broken."'

Zenshi has been silent, a pithy background pillar in perturbed silence. He knew the ensign was going to lash back; he saw it with his own eyes. That's why Zenshi lets him go, why he doesn't even offer a glance because he knows, and Delong knows, what a kind heart is. And Zenshi doesn't object to a justifiable cause.

"_Danchou_!" exclaims Jenhao, picking his way towards the other officer.

"Petty officer, don't take another step," Kamui orders. Jenhao freezes.

The next scene is one that Zenshi regrets watching passively. He can only hope that Jenhao catches his cue, the subtle movement towards the children. The Sciuttlan woman — her name, he learns, is Uhuru Ominira — is very perspicacious, and sees the tall Yato inching to her right step by step as Kamui fights Delong.

Zenshi tilts his head.

_Run_.

She begins to usher her children in that direction, but Kamui feels he interruption and looks up. Delong takes that instant to scramble from Kamui's grasp and drive his elbow into the boy's gut. However strong Delong is will never suffice, and unfortunately, it is a difference in power that Kamui exploits. A split second passes, but it's fast enough and Kamui whips back and blocks the blow. He twists Delong's arm in such a way that the man screams, leaving the limb hanging useless at his side.

"_Danchou_," calls Jenhao, who is promptly ignored, even when he repeats himself and tries to reason with his superior. It's a wise move, and exactly what Zenshi needs. He always appreciates Jenhao's knack for understanding people in general. The petty officer needn't know the idiosyncrasies of Zenshi's body language — the situation itself tells the entire story. Jenhao is buying time.

"Don't forget," calls Kamui, "you're on my list, too."

Kamui lunges for Jenhao, who is so used to a sanguine environment where words may prevail over violence — Zenshi blames himself for taking the man along on too many negotiations, too many peaceful encounters, erasing the resplendent instinct of Yato that burned so fiercely in the others — that the predicament doesn't register. He dotes on his passive personality, so much so that Zenshi is reminded of his mother and aunt. Jenhao doesn't move, and Kamui is going to kill him.

Ensign Delong throws himself in Kamui's path, the boy's extended hand slicing right through his ribs and through a lung. So sharp is Kamui's vicious strike that he almost can't pull his hand back out.

The man collapses where Jenhao catches him.

"Well, how strange," Kamui laughs. "You typically don't do this type of thing, if I'm not mistaken. Am I right, ensign? You're not a kind person."

Delong grabs Jenhao by the collar and tries to utter something, but it's practically incomprehensible. But Jenhao knows, and just by watching, Zenshi knows.

"I will," promises Jenhao. "I promise you."

There, again, is another transformation. Jenhao watches the sanctity of life depart from his superior's — no, his friend's — body with unseeing eyes, a sedate composure traversing his features. He looks up and sees that the woman and her children have frozen, now that the distraction has stopped and Kamui has one eye unswervingly monitoring them. Zenshi has not moved, cannot move, should not move.

"So. You, too? This has become more fun than I imagined. So tell me," Kamui says, "what made you do it?"

Jenhao shakes his head.

"Suit yourself," Kamui says. "You seem to have a death wish."

"Convict me of treason, I don't care!" Jenhao has the ensign's dead body, still warm, in his arms. He clutches the deceased's shoulders, letting him sink to the ground slowly. "Kill me! Do it!"

No more time can be bought; this is the last conquest, the last attempt. Zenshi stands there in silence, almost mocking silence, and he knows that he should move but he is rooted to the ground, rooted by his thoughts and the savage desolation that seizes him like a storm. He could not stop Delong because the man would have despised him for it. He could not stop the ensign, nor could he stop Jenhao, because the conviction in their eyes is something he cannot disrespect.

And Jenhao's eyes are so tired, more than tired, because he has finally broken beneath the weight of all the sins he has committed, all the times where he stripped the rights of people away from them without hesitation.

But there is only one thing that matters.

He is free.

* * *

><p>just two big sections<p>

but

dang it dang it dang it

where's my ZenTsuuuuuu


	48. - Forty-Eight -

fun facts!

**Ch. 47: **Once again, the cities of East and West Tomokaz are parodies of Gintoki's seiyuu, Tomokazu Sugita. (lol)

**Ch. 47: **"He is free." - the last sentence is literally derived from "I only swim free," because it was on my mind.

It's been what, like four or five days since the last update?! GASP!

**Note: updates will be slower, but miss author here is in sports and blah de blah too many activities and too many hard classes**

**Disclaimer: **do it with your dying will! Oh wait, wrong show. Uh. I want my hair to become straight! Sakata Gintoki (c) Sorachi Hideaki

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 48 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, ONE WEEK AGO :.<strong>

"Yer not gonna buy somethin' strange, are ya?" Tsukuyo didn't abet the Yato's bizarre interest in food — a rather typical idiosyncrasy of the Yato — but didn't abnegate his curiosity, either. In fact, he was rather abstemious for his kind, especially moderate in his meals. Compared to Kagura, Tsukuyo wondered if he was actually starving but never told anyone.

Zenshi glanced up. "It's just celery."

"It's _blue_ with _yella' polka dots_," she emphasized, gesturing at the stalks of celery — which where, by the way, as long as her arm but as thin as the regular type on Earth — and frowning incredulously.

"Relax," he said, smirking, "it tastes the same."

"What's the catch?"

"There isn't one." Now, Tsukuyo couldn't quite discern whether his tone was amiably mocking or just his mood for the day, but she did know that she didn't like the look he was giving her. As if he thought her coarsely stupid!

"Don't look at me like that."

"Look at you like what?"

Fine, he was mocking her.

In a friendly manner, though.

"Is it…a super-food? Has it got somethin' weird in it? Does it turn humans blue with yella' polka dots?"

"No, you won't turn blue with _yella'_ polka dots." A brief smile.

Tsukuyo glared.

"Don't make fun of me."

"Who says I'm making fun of you? Maybe I'm admiring you. Maybe I _like_ your accents."

Now he was being snarky.

She wasn't sure she liked snarky. It made her bubble with indignant frustration, yet it was derogatorily endearing. A conundrum. She didn't dare say more, because between "_hist'ry_" and "_yella' polka dots_," there were plenty of little things he liked to pick on from her accent.

Tsukuyo intensified her glare, as if to point out the fact that he was continuing to tease her. Had he been a more expressive man, eye rolling would have been duly called for.

"All right, no celery." He nodded, gesturing for her to follow. The sun was hot for entry into September, so she naturally gravitated towards the shade of his umbrella. Wondering how he could stand the heat in his long-sleeved Yato apparel, she very casually plucked at the fine, layered silk at his elbow.

Zenshi glanced down.

"Aren't ya meltin'?"

He found himself hapless to her tactlessly innocent questions. Her tone was almost pouting, as if she couldn't fathom why in the world he would decide to wear what he did on a hot day. Honestly, it wasn't boiling, as it had been earlier in the season, and he was accustomed to slight discomfort anyway.

But it made him smile. "Do you want me to melt?"

"Don't answer my questions with questions."

"You're rather demanding today, aren't you?."

"Yer rather arr'gant today." Tsukuyo continued glowering, shushing him sharply when he was about to imitate her accent again. Probably in another question, too. "Will you ever just _answer_?"

"Perhaps. The better question is," Zenshi said, pausing at a produce stand that caght his eye, "will you answer mine? You've very casually missed half of my twenty questions I've posed. More accurately, you refused to answer them."

"Because yer nosy."

"And you're not?"

Zenshi very casually weighed a papaya in his hand, while Tsukuyo poised her hands on her hips. He could see her jaw working as she struggled to resolve a witty answer, an impeccable one that he wouldn't be able to attack. Finally, she relented and simply motioned to the papaya.

"Papayas aren't that color," she told him flatly.

"They aren't? I'm sure this is a regular papaya."

"Not on Earth, it isn't." She knows it's a regular papaya.

"Oh? And what color are they on earth? Blue with _yella'_ polka dots?"

Tsukuyo flushed. She secretly enjoyed bantering with him, mostly because he often prodded her on and he had a smooth, easy voice that she rather liked. Since he typically didn't talk much around others — at the breakfast table, he spared Seita a few words about homework and those silly red bean pancakes — she was glad he chose to converse with her once they were out and about together.

"No," she said defiantly. "They're, uh, neon pink."

"All right, I believe you. But do you like papaya, or not?"

"Hinowa does."

"There you go again, never answering my questions." Zenshi felt impulsively open today, departing from his fettering aloofness because he liked to see her slightly frustrated, slightly pleased little smiles.

"Fine, I do!" Tsukuyo indignantly snatched the papaya, a fine fruit in her opinion, from his hands. "There."

"You looks stunning with that fruit. Hold on while I find a camera."

Tsukuyo elbowed him in the ribs; he pretended not to notice, paying for the fruit as well as a few peaches and pears to finish off their collection of produce.

"I'm surprised the peaches are still in season," Tsukuyo said. He threw her a narrow, sidelong glance. Zenshi knew it was one of her many attempt to initiate casual conversation, but both of them were well aware of the fact that small talk never quite flowed well between the two. Most effective were teases and sarcastic remarks, which they could continue for hours.

"Did you know that peaches grow year round on the planet Ocengreen? It's major exports include many tropical fruits and orchard produces."

"Ocengreen? Where's that?"

"Far away. I went to school there."

"You? School?" Tsukuyo smirked.

This time, he chanced a real smile back.

"Yes, me. Yes, school."

"I don't believe ya."

"So," quipped Zenshi, moving on briskly, pointing at another alien food. "This is called airship zucchini. And it is, in fact, blue with _yella' _polka dots."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Welcome to East Tomokaz, home of some of the finest textiles you will find on this side of the Milky Way!" exclaimed Sakamoto, standing proudly at the bridge and surveying the land. The ship descended into an elongated terminal, similar to the one in Edo but with several chimney-like landing ports instead of just one large tower. "The people here cut good deals."

"Always a merchant, aren't you?" chortled one of the crewmembers, joining the others in landing the spacecraft.

"A good one," Sakamoto added.

"This place is incredible," said one of the Hyakka, a woman about Tsukuyo's age with fiercely dark brown eyes. "Look at those colors!"

She pointed at one of the skyscrapers, most of which were lined with glass that reflected sheens of rainbows all across, angled so that the light created different patterns. The architecture, phenomenal just by viewing alone, was a feat of physics apparently only possible on this planet. Earth's scientists would have suffered massive migraines upon studying the workings of Sciuttlan cities, where the gravity seemed to pull people in yet propel them into almost floating, lighthearted existences.

Zenshi instinctively went for his umbrella when they landed. However, it wasn't leaning by the control panel desks, where he'd left them. Whipping around, the tall, slightly harangued Yato came face to face with Mutsu, who held out the navy parasol with a look of exasperation pulling the corner of her mouth.

"Relax," she chastised lightly. "This isn't your presidential inauguration."

Zenshi didn't even have to glare for her to know that he didn't like this comparison to his father, who, though not a president in the least, had enough power to be one if he so wished. But Mutsu passed him a blasé shrug as he took his umbrella, minding not that his word of thanks was rather delayed.

"It sure is busy," said the one talkative Hyakka. Her name was Chiyako, and her two companions — Zenshi believed they were related in some way, cousins probably, because they had the same brow contours — were Hotaru and Keiko. Zenshi simply referred to them as the "trio," because it was difficult to tell them apart. On the Harusame ships, twins were often separated by either rank or outfit, and those that preferred the ambiguous name calling were the bane of Kamui's existence. The young commander displayed nonchalance, but constantly beleaguered the one particular pair of twins' propensity for swapping roles.

"Look at that," said Hotaru (or was it Keiko?). "Those two towers are beautiful."

She gestured to a few buildings made of glass that wove gentle sea foam white into tropical teal hues. They were stunning, but almost bland compared to the their adorned neighbors.

The ship descended into one of the terminals, decelerating until it floated gently to the landing pad. Mutsu set the spacecraft down nearly effortlessly, a hand of time and patience arriving them on the planet much more skillfully than what Zenshi assumed Sakamoto could have done. The brown-haired human looked tousled and motion-sick, clinging to Mutsu who promptly shoved him off.

"Are those the people here?" asked one of the Hyakka trio. "Look at their skin. That's amazing!"

Indeed, the people of Sciuttla were nearly identical to humans, save for the fact that they came in a variety of brilliant hues. Most were either monochrome in complexion, but some sported two colors, and the rare few sported three or more. It was rumored that the esteemed mayor of West Tomokaz, sister city to this one, East Tomokaz, had rainbow hair and vanilla cream skin.

The Sciuttlan fashion was not subordinate to their fabulously hued skins. Clothes came in all colors, all textures, all patterns. There were fanciful animal skins belonging to creatures nonexistent on Earth. Zenshi wasn't quite sure he liked the fashion — the Yato wore a recognizable, traditional style, and Ocengreen sported mostly white or black clothing with modest color adornments — but it was a interesting, engaging site, and he didn't mind the novelty of a new culture.

With such a wondrous city at hand, he was almost able to push back his negative memories. Tsukuyo touched his sleeve gently, motioning for him to look at an enormous horse, probably twice the size of an Earth horse, who was blue with yellow polka dots. He gently elbowed her arm, and she shot him a derisive but charming grin.

And then the whistle.

A long, low whistle, as if one might be calling their hunting dog home, sounded brilliantly across the arrival terminal. Since the ceiling was open, not many looked up, assuming it to be one of the fantastical multi-hued birds that shimmered in the air, perching on artificial branches that a witty airport designer had had installed.

But Zenshi recognized the whistle, as did Mutsu. Throughout the pirate syndicates, it was known as the "all clear" whistle, even in different gangs.

Sitting casually by another gate, the docile, kind petty officer who had waited and waited, day after day.

Jenhao.

* * *

><p>Ahaha *cue Sakamoto laugh*<p>

I gave you some Zentsu

now rejoice

in everything blue and yella'

_hella yella'_

lol


	49. - Forty-Nine -

Whewww! Getting busier! Updates will be fewer and farther in between, my apologies in advance!

FUN FACTS:

**Ch. 48: **When I wrote that Jenhao whistled, there was a **Catching Fire **movie DVD commercial playing behind me...

**Disclaimer: Just DO IT. Justaway alarm clocks. Heidi.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 49 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SIX YEARS AGO :.<strong>

There is an air about the superior officers that makes Zenshi forget that they're actually not that much older than him. But the affected jovial smiles are hard to pity and hard to believe, all at once. They are aged by violence, blood, and corruption.

But they are all good people, innately good people with emotions and consciences and souls. Zenshi has met enough people to see through the illusory smiles and the deceptive gruff first impressions.

Abuto introduces him to his squad.

"Petty Officer Mei, this lovely lady right here who happens to be your fellow initiate, will be your immediate aide," he announces. The blonde flashes a toothy grin as Abuto continues. "However, your right hand man will be Ensign Delong in all large operations and affairs. The chain of command proceeds as follows: Zenshi, Delong, Jenhao, Jinlin, Mei, and Tabs. Because you are a flexible group, there will be times where someone different, perhaps with more expertise or more knowledge, will assume leadership. As of now, everything is lined up by rank and then by seniority. Clear?"

Zenshi surveys his group. Mei has a levity that even Tabs cannot match; Tabs has an palpable nervousness that he slimly disguises with a calculating glare. Zenshi has to admit that Tabs cannot make a mean face to save his life.

The rest of the group is harrowingly stoic. Delong and the woman are strikingly similar — though he's muscled and has got sloped shoulders and stubble around his angular jaw, his hair a (deliberately?) styled sweep of cropped spikes and an undercut like Zenshi's, Delong has a thin face and a brow of similar contour to the woman's beside him. The only other female besides Mei, Jinlin is a somewhat impassive, nonchalant character with long, flat black hair and narrow eyes. She is blunt but quiet, and always smells subtly like coffee.

After the two — whom Zenshi later learns to be cousins, or so they told him — comes Jenhao, who is mild and the "middle brother" of the other two. Jinlin is only three years older than Zenshi, Delong is six. Jenhao sits somewhere in the middle, but he doesn't look it. He has light hair for a Yato; it's of similar color to Abuto's, but more like a dark blond than anything else. It's cut neatly around his head in a regular boy's cut, though the front remains long and he frequently brushes it aside. He's a friendly, mild man, and Zenshi immediately takes a liking to Jenhao.

"Coffee?" the older crewman asks, when the meeting ends and the young lieutenant is left with an unfamiliar squad and abiding faces.

Before Zenshi can even reply, Jenhao chuckles lightly.

"You don't look like a coffee person. Tea?" Easily switching the coffeepot for a teapot, Jenhao pours him an easy oolong. "I'm more a tea person myself, but some mornings move too quickly for me to actually brew a good pot."

"This is fine tea," Zenshi commends politely. The taste is subtle and strong all at once, aromatic and of good quality leaves.

"I try to get my hands on some when I can. My wife sent me a box of varied leaves this past weekend. She's pregnant, and I worry often, so we correspond with mail the best we can."

Zenshi nods. He isn't quite sure what to reply with. "That sounds lovely. Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"No, but she says it's a boy, and I suppose a mother knows best." Jenhao offers a mild smile. His entire essence adheres to an easygoing motto, never a conniving face on his features or a mean bone in his body. Zenshi knows, though, that the blood of the Yato strives cogently within every man in the 7th Division. Jenhao is one of those, just like Zenshi's own mother, that manage to quell the boiling genes with commodious patience and perhaps the occasional brew of chamomile to sooth the nerves.

Jenhao asks if Zenshi would like to see a picture. Wanting to know his new crew better, the boy accepts.

"This is my wife," Jenhao announces proudly, procuring a slightly crinkled photo from his pocket. The woman is pleasantly plain, but with lovely green eyes and long brown hair braided down her back. She wears the traditional Yato clothing in the photo, but it's a large dress, wide around the abdomen because her belly is distended with a growing baby.

"She's beautiful. You're very lucky." Zenshi peers closer. Yes, Jenhao looks as if he might fit right there in the picture.

"Pardon me if I'm intrusive, Lieutenant, but do you have any pictures of your family?"

Zenshi looks up.

"No, I don't."

"I see."

"But I do," Zenshi says quickly, "have this." He draws out his mother's gold locket, which has a small picture within.

"Lieutenant," Jenhao says with a friendly smile, "I'm going to have to request that we don't lie to one another if we work together. It seems you do have a picture after all."

"So it seems." Zenshi is warmed by the man's gentle smile and serene personality. Jenhao presents all issues with more patience than the lieutenant himself, and a thousand times more openheartedness than any Yato on board.

"Is that your mother?"

"Yes."

Jenhao doesn't make the mistake of asking where Zenshi's father is, or why he isn't present in the photo.

But instead, he says to Zenshi what no one ever has:

"You truly resemble your mother."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

He was hardly recognizable, dressed in Sciuttlan garb of the most outrageous colors, but looking more like a tourist than actual citizen. He carried a plain red umbrella overhead — it was rounded and practical, a movement away from the sleek weapon he used to have on hand — and his amber hair had grown long enough to tie back.

"Lieutenant," Jenhao addressed lightly, with his mellow smile. "It's been a while."

"Jenhao," Zenshi said, nodding. "I regret to inform you that I no longer hold that title. It belongs to Mei, now."

At this, the other Yato just laughed. "Mei? Oh, _Danchou_ must be having fun. And I doubt you regret at all, Zenshi."

Jenhao had a pliable skill in communication. He was capable of slipping into any role with ease and comfort. Adroit at the art of calm and collection, Jenhao was an expert at conjuring up the most appropriate sentiments. He dropped Zenshi's title without much effort, and seeing as the two were of similar age, Jenhao had no qualms about his familiarity with the younger man.

"Kamui is now the Harusame admiral, I hear," Jenhao continued. "He hasn't laid a hand on Sciuttla since then, however."

Zenshi smiled briefly.

"Good. And the women and children?"

"Safe." Jenhao peered around Zenshi, spotting the Kaientai and the Hyakka. Mutsu flashed her silver band, and Jenhao returned with a brief gesture of his left index finger, which sported the same ring. "You seem to have brought guests."

"I wouldn't call'em guests," Mutsu interrupted. "We've got three parties with three different purposes. The Kaientai is strictly on business."

"And the other two?" Jenhao paused. "I suppose I needn't ask you, Zenshi, but the humans…?"

"Business," Tsukuyo cut in curtly. "We've got somethin' personal to take care of."

"I see. Well, for now, I'll take you to where I've been staying. It's a refugee's home, sponsored by our 'patron' in a hotel." Jenhao nodded in the direction he meant to lead them in. Mutsu and Sakamoto said their goodbyes, the former briskly ordering her men to begin unloading crates of goods to be sold.

"Wow," one of the Hyakka (Chiyako?) continued murmuring. As they left the confines of the artfully crafted space port, the colors became more vibrant and the hues more brilliant. If there was a color humans and Yato could not see, they could see it now.

"Miss," Jenhao called, "Do you mind me asking what brings you to Sciuttla? I'd like to assist your cause in any way possible, seeing as you've come with Zenshi."

"We're lookin' fer a criminal," Tsukuyo replied brusquely. "He's got ties to somethin' that we're aimin' to finish off."

"You ladies sound…determined," Jenhao offered. His wan facial expression belied his words; he seemed more akin to calling them the devil's assassination squad. Four fierce ladies, three of which were armed to the teeth and the fourth, their leader, the fiery courtesan of death. "This man must have done some heinous crimes for you to pursue him so fervently."

"He bombed our home!" exclaimed Hotaru (yes, that was Hotaru, Zenshi was sure now). "We're ending this."

"Bombed?" Jenhao paused. They were nearly at the door. He cast his former lieutenant a wary glance, and then turned back to the women.

"Jenhao," Zenshi warned in a low voice. The dark blond had lost the coruscating smile he typically wore, and an almost estranged concern had found its way onto his face. But disregarding Zenshi, he spoke.

"You wouldn't happen to be looking for Raku the Rapid, would you?"

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, ONE WEEK AGO :.<strong>

"What is _that_?" asked Seita, pointing at the strange fruits and vegetables that Tsukuyo let spill across the table.

"Dinner."

Seita gagged. "Are you sure?"

"Seita, those taste pretty much like normal fruits and veggies," Hinowa began, pointing at the blue zucchini with yellow polka dots. "They cook and feel just about the same."

"_Vegetables_," hissed Seita, grandiosely spreading his arms and looking to the ceiling overdramatically. "I just _can't_."

"What are you going to make?" asked Hinowa, ignoring her son for the time being.

"My mother taught me a few recipes," Zenshi said, surveying their purchases. "Ratatouille is one of them."

"I'm not familiar, but if you're up to making dinner, then please do." Hinowa smiled, and then immediately transformed into the scolding mother as soon as she turned to Seita. "Young man, you are going to eat all those vegetables whether you like it or not."

"But _Mom_!"

"No buts!"

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"_The moving walkway is coming to an end. Please watch your step._"

Jenhao very smoothly transitioned from rolling conveyor belt to the terminal corridor, followed by the rest of his foreign entourage.

"You know who he is?" asked Tsukuyo. "Who is he?" she demanded ardently. "Where is he?"

"Hold your horses, miss." Jenhao put up his hands, moving aside so they weren't blocking others. "I can't tell you very much here, but I can tell you that you might be slightly skewed in your endeavors. What is your purpose for seeking Raku?"

"He's a terrorist with known affiliation to the Harusame. We have reason to believe the Harusame's usin' him to plot against us on Earth to regain control of Yoshiwara."

"Yoshiwara?" echoed Jenhao. He suddenly broke his casual demeanor and stuttered slightly. "L-Lieutenant? _Yoshiwara_? I know you were residing in Edo, but not… The Harusame constantly patrols Yoshiwara. How did you manage to—"

"Mei was doing surveillance. You can guess the rest." Zenshi cast a wary glance over his shoulder, as if the lady in question would pop out of nowhere and take their heads. He wasn't all too happy with facilitating such a gory scene. "What do you know of Raku the Rapid?"

"In the first place," Jenhao reasoned, "Raku has nothing to do with the Harusame. I'm not quite sure what you're all talking about. The Harusame never hired anyone to bomb Yoshiwara."

"How do ya know?" spat Tsukuyo. Zenshi touched her forearm lightly, but the effort was futile.

"Because," Jenhao said, brandishing the flat, silver ring in his hand, "he's with us."

* * *

><p>If you've forgotten, Sa-chan researched that the one who bombed Hinowa's home was Raku the Rapid.<p>

Plot twists yayyyyyyyyy. uh.

DEAR GUEST WHO LIKED MY ART: *BRO HUG*

IMPORTANT: **COMMISSIONS OPEN ON DEVIANTART! check it out, yo!**


	50. - Fifty -

**50 CHAPTERS**

_**special extended chapter to celebrate 50 chapters of Zenshi's story**_

_thank you for all your love, support, and continued reading thus far into my first thorough project!_

-Cavallo Alato-

(Equestrian-Equine)

**DISCLAIMER: Hideaki Sorachi owns all Gintama characters and concepts, save Cavallo Alato's OCs.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 50 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

His mother says nothing when she finds him alone in the kitchen, midnight rising high in the sky with the desolate moon, forty-eight hours before he leaves with the Harusame's fleet.

She says nothing when he takes the knife to the nape of his neck, hand quivering because he's gripping the handle so hard. In one glib swipe, he has severed his long braid from his head, letting the black hair, which glints navy in the gloating moonlight, fall to the floor.

"Sit."

He does so.

And his mother, Lanhua, returns to beautifully silent eloquence, drawing a pair of scissors from the pantry drawers and trimming the haggard strands of hair until its neatened up. The next day, she will properly find a men's razor and clip an undercut for him and finish neatening the rest of his appearance.

After all, she thinks sadly to herself, she cannot let her son — who looks so much like his father that she is wistful — run amok with hair like a street gang leader. She will never let him fall, if she can.

The little boy with the flapping braid and the baby blue umbrella will always be her little boy.

And there is nothing, not even his eyes, which glow like the eyes of wolves in the night, that can change that fact.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Mutsu came stalking up to them with such urgent pace that none of them had any time to react to Jenhao's statement.

"We came at a bad time," she uttered, cursing to herself. "They're about to commence a lockdown because the military's doing a monthly visit. It's an arbitrary surveillance — we were hoping they'd do it at the end of the month instead of now."

"The military?" echoed one of the Hyakka. "Wait, what do you—"

"_This is your Minister of Civil Safety, from the capital. The East Tomokaz Trans-Galaxy Terminal will be conducting a regulated search and safety conduct. Please cease all shop activity, shuttle transportation, and outgoing flights. Incoming flights are to taxi for their allotted amount of time and then remain in designated areas. Thank you for your cooperation, and we will be around shortly._"

"Safety," parroted Jenhao, frowning. "Whenever this comes around, it's bad news. This is one of the occurrences where people 'disappear' by the government's hand."

"They're roundin' up the rebels?" Tsukuyo assumed. Jenhao nodded.

"The 'Minister of Civil Safety' is a former general. He's basically just looking for suspicious people to torture and lock away." Jenhao pulled out a mobile phone from his right pocket. Around them, the people began milling in little clusters, outside terminal restaurants and duty-free shops, lingering at the boarding gates. Travelers obediently paused their trips and sipped complementary cups of coffee that one of the cafés handed out during such events.

A crash resounded from their left, the west end of the building.

Sirens wailed, growing louder and higher in pitch as it approached.

"Is this normal?" Mutsu asked, dragging Sakamoto behind her.

"No," replied Jenhao. "Something's up."

Zenshi quickly glanced about, calculating the circumstances and the odds of escaping if the need presented itself. The open ceilinged harbor had long since disappeared behind them, and they were stuck fast in the center of this wing of the building, which resembled a modern airport.

Jenhao's cell phone vibrated in his hand; he picked it up.

"Sir, we've got to move," came an urgent buzz, so loud that those in the near vicinity could hear the voice over the distant sirens.

An indoor security vehicle rammed around a corner and came charging down the aisle. In it was a dead Sciuttlan man with purple skin, dressed in military apparel, shoved aside by a few rebels.

"Wait, aren't those—" The Hyakka woman didn't finish because the car swept alongside their group and the man driving motioned urgently.

"Get in, fast!" ordered the man. His left index finger sported one of those plain rings, and immediately, Mutsu threw Sakamoto into the open terrain car.

"Raku!" exclaimed Jenhao. "Why did you leave the base?"

"No time to explain, sir, get in! We don't have the time!"

"Raku?" Tsukuyo and Zenshi said in unison, both shocked a standstill. It was then that they realized their parsimonious judgment had left a gaping hole in observation — the sirens on this car were silent, and the ones that were roaring ever closer were manned by armed soldiers, rounding the same corner.

Jenhao took Tsukuyo by the arm and forced her into the car, urging Zenshi to follow suit. There were two other men with matching code rings were also in the vehicle, one aiming a machine gun out the side, and the other managing a touch screen tablet displaying a glowing blueprint of the terminal.

"There will be no evacuation call," said the man who, to their surprise, dismay, and shock, was Raku. "They're bombing the terminal."

At this, Mutsu rejected the offered hand.

"Take the Captain," she declared, backing away from the security cruiser. "I'm going back to the Kaientai."

Before anyone could stop her, the brunette was racing back down to where her men were unloading — no, they were _reloading_, immediately reversing action because Mutsu had been wary of the lockdown — and leaving Sakamoto rather helpless with the group of Amanto.

The car began reeling down the hall, away from the pursuers. The government cars wailed, sentencing people to the strict confines of the side shops as they raced after the stolen vessel.

"Fifty seconds to lockdown," said the man with the digital tablet. "Forty-five…Forty…"

"Those doors will close on us if we don't go faster," Jenhao said.

"They don't call me Raku the Rapid for nothing, sir." Raku slammed his heel on the accelerator, speeding up so quickly that one of the Hyakka nearly lurched out of the car. Tsukuyo grabbed onto her companion, knowing that Zenshi's firm hand around her waist would keep her stable.

"Twenty-five seconds."

A massive, looming door made of steel was descending from the opened corridor. The military teams behind them were tenacious, closing the gap between them with each ticking second.

Zenshi's inner clock began to chime, pilfering counts off of his heartbeat, resounding every half-second with propagating intensity in his ears. It was no different from any other time he was running, running, running.

Except this time, he could tell front from back, up from down, and left from right.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, ONE WEEK AGO :.<strong>

It was almost uncomfortably quiet between the two, neither of which were prolix people in the first place. The mother and son and retreated to the latter's room to work on a school project — Hinowa was doing all the cutting and pasting while Seita tried his best to print neatly on the poster — leaving Zenshi and Tsukuyo to their own.

"Do ya cook often?"

She asked the question so abruptly that he was startled. Zenshi frowned to himself, wondering how and why he suddenly became so easily perturbed.

"Occasionally."

"And yer old job? Did ya cook for yerself?"

"No." He was tempted to tell her she was overextending her allotted twenty questions, but at the moment he didn't mind. There was a sanguine cheer to her voice, as if she expected to weed out some juicy info from the resolute Yato. "Keep in mind that I was a pirate."

"Didn't ya dislike bein' called a pirate?"

"I do." Her curiosity was beyond satiating; he would not attempt, but he would comply.

"Is that like or dislike?"

"Taste this." He had baked the ratatouille for nearly fifty minutes, and upon presenting it to Tsukuyo, he secretly hoped that she liked it. No, he very evidently hoped that she liked it.

"Y'know, a gentleman would warn me that the dish is hot."

He wasn't sure how to react to her bold, snarky remarks. Usually he was the one-upper in every conversation.

"It's hot, be careful," he deadpanned dryly.

"Much appreciated," Tsukuyo drawled. She took a dainty bite — actually, she wasn't dainty in the least because she tried so hard to eat elegantly — and considered the flavor. It was excellent. "This would be good with somethin'…maybe rice?"

"We have rice." Zenshi produced a bag of deep sea blue rice from some obscure planet, and made a show out of contemplating how much to cook.

"If that stuff is poisonous, I'll kill ya."

"I'm sure." But he glanced down, and seeing that she was still eating the ratatouille, gave her a reserved glare.

"Where did ya learn to cook western foods?"

"Are you going to eat the entire thing before I can serve it to Hinowa and Seita?"

"What kind of food do the Yato eat?" She stood and circled the table, the dish in hand as she nonchalantly continued to nibble away at it.

"Am I going to have to cook another dish?"

"Do ya not like cookin'?"

"My dish, please."

"I'm sorry, _your_ dish?" Tsukuyo's smirk was almost flirtatious, enticing, daringly so. "It looks more like _mine_ right now."

Zenshi wiped down the kitchen, cleaning any knives and cutting boards, turning off the oven, and returning spices to their cabinets. All the while keeping an eye on Tsukuyo, who meandered in slow circles around him, demolishing the poor ratatouille. He had to admit that he'd served a small portion, mostly due to the fact that he honestly wasn't sure if airship zucchini cooked the same as Earth zucchini, which his mother had used more often than not.

Tsukuyo had a saccharine grin plastered on her face now, as if she was drunk on nothing but the vegetable dish.

"I made that so Seita would eat his vegetables," Zenshi told her flatly.

"Oya?" slurred Tsukuyo, clearly mocking him now. "Why, I didn't know."

Zenshi mustered as much a stolid expression as he could, despite the fact that her teasing was indefatigable and ridiculously amusing.

"After all, he's got a _hist'ry_ of not eating his vegetables," he retorted effortlessly.

Tsukuyo glared.

And then she scooped up a good portion of the ratatouille — she looked absurd, snapping up a stack of sliced zucchinis and eggplants and squashes with her chopsticks — and stuffed it unceremoniously into her mouth. The blonde courtesan cradled the dish to her chest, wiggling her chopsticks in his face.

"Are you drunk?"

"What makes you think that?" She ate some more. Zenshi was thoroughly convinced that he'd spilled rum, something or the other, into the tomato sauce during his ratatouille-conceiving endeavors. Perhaps Hinowa's oven emitted noxious fumes from aged grapes or hardy beers.

"Stop," Zenshi finally requested, exasperated. He was tempted to roll his eyes, but she had done it for him.

"Make me."

So he grabbed her wrist and leaned down, placing a brief kiss on her mouth.

And pulled the plate from her hands, turned around, proceeding to ignore her for the rest of her stunned silence.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Fifteen…"

Their only gunman could hardly take on the government's platoon of lined vehicles. All of them, somehow crammed into the stolen car, ducked down to avoid the flying bullets.

"Ten…"

"We're not going to make the door," shouted the gunman, reloading. "Find a different route!"

"There is none!" cried the other, scrolling relentless through the contents of his tablet. "They've cornered us, look!"  
>Indeed, the airport was not only beautifully designed, but cleverly made so that terrorists attempting to sabotage safe travel were shot down with minimal effort. Dead end.<p>

Zenshi didn't need a cue nor a countdown when his internal clock hit five seconds.

As the gunman fumbled with his ammo, Zenshi rose from the seat and shot out the wheels of their pursuers with stunning accuracy.

And then Tsukuyo was clawing at his shirt, yelling for him to get down unless he wanted to lose his head, and they were flying past the gate, skimming just under it, the convertible windshield shearing away as the steel plates descended, the passengers flattened within the car, trembling for that one millisecond.

And then they were flying out into the city, past the regular planes and the shuttles and the people, smearing Sciuttla into a neon blur, borne forward with relentless force.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, ONE WEEK AGO :.<strong>

She didn't enter his room that night, but she did knock on his door.

"Yer a jerk," she spat ruthlessly, without hesitation.

"Are you angry?"

She glared, flushing the same rosy red she had just before dinner.

"I'll have you know, I gave up my status as—" Tsukuyo stuttered midsentence, coming to a screeching halt. Zenshi smirked, knowing that it irritated her more than she let on.

"As…?"

"Yer a jerk."

"I'm pleased to know you think so highly of me, my fair lady of peace."

"Ya know what?" She was between storming in and wringing his neck and slamming the sliding door shut. He was sitting there on his cot, browsing simply through one of the novels he'd found in the guest room's shelves. One of them was actually Hosen's old favorites, written by an old Yato author, called "The Plight of Men."

"What?"

"You can go tell yer father the king that Planet Pheromones ain't gettin' a grandchild heir any time soon."

"Are you insinuating that I would have had an heir?"

She flushed a deeper red, and then stormed down the hall, leaving the door ajar so that his soft laughter could be heard, but only until she turned the corner.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

They exchanged the battered police vehicle for an incognito civilian's SUV, the inchoate operation proceeding with calculated organization.

"They don't know our base, so as soon as we're off their radar, we should be fine," Jenhao told them, once settled into the slightly cramped car. Their prior flight from the terminal had been reckless and dangerous. Somehow managing to lose the tail of several summoned police forces, Raku had gunned across a few back roads, exiting the city briefly for a wild terrain detour, before slipping back in from the south.

"_That's_ Raku?" asked Tsukuyo, ignoring the poor, harried Yato.

"Boss," whispered one of the Hyakka. She was promptly disregarded, to her dismay.

"Hold tight for now, Ms. Earthling," Raku said. "We've changed rides, but it doesn't mean we're out of the way. East Tomokaz is one of the few cities that have a few roads left without fully equipped cameras. I'm trying to look for those."

Raku was not Sciuttlan, not Yato, not anything that the Yoshiwaran women recognized. But Zenshi did. Raku had the look of an average human, save for the fact that he sported snake eyes and scaled skin, tan with the beaded, meshed pattern of a diamondback snake running down his arms. His hair was purple, purple to the point of Sciuttlan approval, and he had short talons instead of fingernails.

Zenshi didn't know the name of the Amanto specifically, but he knew of a man from the same planet. He knew the scaled skin and the thin, flickering tongue. Raku exuded marshy determination and focus; it was a trait that could translate easily into murderous intent. Zenshi knew it firsthand.

In fact, he had once killed a man with the same snake eyes and the same scaled skin.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWELVE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Zenshi hangs back loosely, watching a hoard of diplomats maraud the square and begin bickering. Linter arrives, and the authority he carries with his presence alone is enough to silence them all. He spares but a glance at the dead man in the center of the courtyard.

"My son, if you would please."

Whoever is holding back Zenshi — though there is clearly no need, for the dead man in the center has already been killed — lets him go. The boy doesn't quite meet his father halfway, but instead finds walking straight to be more imperative than anything.

It's only then that he remembers the sharp pain down his face before he grabbed the knife and drove it between three large scales concealing the assassin's heart. He lifts a cautious hand to his nose, his cheek, feeling ripped flesh and coming away with darkened, bloody fingers.

"Impetuous boy," sighs Linter. "But my boy, nonetheless. Come here, let's get you cleaned up."

But Zenshi doesn't quite pay attention to his father; his focus is elsewhere. His consciousness oozes from him like the hardening, thick blood streaming down his face.

He doesn't realize he's asleep until the canine pup that his aunt keeps around licks his cheek, and it's the last thing he sees before the nothingness envelopes him in its imbuing arms of darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Miraculously, they reached the hotel where several refugees from destroyed towns and cities had fled to for the past six plus months. The lodging is massive, high-class, and impalpably beyond their expectations.

"You're hosting refugees _here_?" Sakamoto blurted incredulously. Zenshi had nearly forgotten the presence of their only human, or rather, a human in the shape of a brunet cotton ball. "How are you affording this?"

"We're not. Our patron is supporting us anonymously," Jenhao said, a tad exasperated. It appeared as if he received similarly impertinent questions plenty enough, and Sakamoto's boisterous, oblivious laughter was pushing even Jenhao's mightily bottomless wells of patience.

"Yer patron is filthy rich," Tsukuyo muttered, still glaring at Raku. She had finally accepted the fact that her questions would have to be answered later in exchange for her cooperation. The Hyakka simply milled behind their leader, the colorful hotel structures sometimes distracting them. They were more tourists than anything.

"He's scheduled to visit and discuss the plan of action soon with Uhuru Ominira, the face of the revolutionaries. We don't know when because we're operating under clandestine circumstances," Jenhao explained. "Zenshi, you were to be drawn from Earth somehow so that you could come here with the funds."

It occurred to everyone that Zenshi had no baggage on him, no belongings.

"Don't worry," he informed them curtly, pulling out a card. "I have my places."

"Of course." Jenhao nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. Of course his former lieutenant had created an alias bank account off somewhere in the universe — because who would be stupid enough to carry around two large suitcases full of money?

But the one thing that bothered Zenshi was the fact that he was "drawn out" from his cover on Earth. First of all, who might have known he had abandoned the Harusame after committing an act of open mutiny, and how did they find him? What was the key to "drawing him out" to Sciuttla?

And then he knew. There were two reasons he knew, and Jenhao and Tsukuyo both recognized the cold, inflexible apprehension that became fixed in his tense jaw and his emotionless expression.

The silver bands that everyone had worn, from Mei, Abuto, and his crewmen, to the men here, to Mutsu and the Kaientai.

There was only one man capable of amassing so many relations and so many powerful allies.

Only one man, _whose name will remain anonymous_, could issue such orders _in multiple areas of the universe in a plan that will counteract Harusame's terrorist activities in Sciuttla._

That man, the "higher-up," the "patron," the "sponsor," _has both personal and professional purposes, _including the death of his sister-in-law by the hands of the Harusame.

Zenshi called those who ran from their fears cowards. If he turned now, he would become one of them. Yet he already was a coward, a crippled, self-proclaimed knight, for he had already run once. Ignominious fear laid waste to his mental control, unsheathed his wavering indecision between admiration and loathing. He realized then that his hatred was not hatred at all.

Because the man in front of him, dressed as he always had in brilliant Yato silks, was not a man he hated, not a man he feared. Zenshi could not place the sensation.

There they stood, face to face, after over a decade of lost contacts and severed relationships. Zenshi no longer understood his younger self, his dread for this fated meeting.

But he knew, after all this time, in the face of his father, who stood so regally and regarded him with such pride even now, that nothing was impossible.

* * *

><p>Chapter 50 hails the advent of:<p>

-Romance! *gasp* _They...!?_

-Action!

-Plot twists?!

_Thanks for reading! See you next chapter...!_


	51. - Fifty-One -

You know something? Document manager only holds 50 documents, so I had to delete stuff. /cry/

**Disclaimer: and we'll never be royaallls...wait...we'll never be the SHOOGUN shoogun**

Who names their kid Nobunobu and Shigeshige?!

Like, roll call in kindergarten:

"Tommy."

"Here!"

"Sarah."

"Here!"

"Joey."

"Here!"

"Shigeshige."

"_Present_."

* * *

><p><strong><span>Eyes of Wolves<span>**

_- 51 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, ONE WEEK AGO :.<strong>

A flustered Tsukuyo was the most entertaining Tsukuyo, seeing as she was unable to even muster a complete sentence. Her seemingly cool, level-headed demeanor had been shattered, and she attempted to cover it up with overtly exaggerated conversation.

Breakfast the next day was, to say the least, awkward.

"Seita, how did ya sleep?" she blurted. The boy cast her a dubious glance, one brow arching higher than the other. Tsukuyo blatantly avoided Zenshi, who simply sat down at his usual seat, imparting nothing but a polite "good morning" to Hinowa, who wheeled in across from him.

"Fine," Seita replied warily. "Why?"

"Oh, nothin'."

" 'Oh, nothing' sounds really suspicious." Seita had developed an incorrigible little half smirk half frown, as if constantly regarding everyone with disdain and a touch of amusement. Where he learned it, they weren't sure, but there were several unspoken, incriminating arrows pointed in the general direction of their resident Yato, who was prone to taking up such an expression whilst poking fun at Tsukuyo.

"And how was _your_ sleep, Tsukki?" asked Hinowa.

"F-fine."

"That sounds suspicious too, yes?" quipped Seita. Everyone stared at him, because he had just tacked on an indignant little _aru_ to the end of his sentence, sounding like a human version of Kagura. He had, in fact, been dawdling about with the Yorozuya, mostly to get Kagura to introduce him to Soyo-hime, and was a very impressionable boy.

Seita shrugged when Hinowa asked him about it, and they spent the rest of breakfast in faithful, albeit tongue-tied, silence. But at least then, Tsukuyo didn't have to continue talking, leaving a few accusatory peeks at Zenshi to suffice for her flustered anxiousness.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Mei's parents are indelibly charmed by Zenshi, who has abandoned his loose braid for a neatly tied back appearance. Mei herself has an inclement glower brewing on her face, looking like she might explode if he dares make another move.

But then, as luck would have it, that famous father of Zenshi's swoops in and steals the conversation like nothing has happened.

To be fair, it seems more like Zenshi simply passes the baton with effortless ease, wanting nothing more than to be done with social interactions. Almost immediately, Mei's parents stiffen; a keen Amanto can even smell the tension in the air. With utmost respect, they almost worshipfully greet the renowned politician.

Sometimes, Zenshi doesn't even know what his father is anymore. Is he a politician? Is he a diplomat? Is he a _dictator_? What does he rule over, anyway? What gives him the right to so much power? Surely the Yato government — which is inconspicuous and novice compared to most — has better men to appoint.

But unfortunately, they do not, and that is why the genius Linter has taken over their planet, as well as the hierarchies of foreign allies. There is a reason why the Yato are the greatest mercenary clan, out of both strength and foreign relations. There is a reason why those such as the merciless Shinra and the fearsome Dakini Tribes are unable to compete with them.

Linter has such impossible power that he is not even a man anymore.

And Zenshi does not know what to regard him as. Not a Yato, not a father. The man who has tried, for all sixteen years of Zenshi's life, to bend his son to his will and his role, has assured himself of a successor.

Zenshi hates him for it. The man who leaves his wife alone to take care of their only son, only to come home and pretend as if nothing has changed. And those rare visits are designated only to snatch Zenshi away for yet another public tour with the boy as an "apprentice" in the works. The man who has carved Zenshi into the eloquent, manipulative character he is, irreversibly.

The young Yato is his father. He cannot part from it, cannot separate his own blood from Linter's.

No matter how much he tries.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

The two regarded one another with the same impassive blue eyes, the same imperious stare. In fact, the one who wavered first would lose; a battle of silence ensued.

Suddenly, as if the blood had rushed too quickly from his head, flashes of Abuto and Mei and Tabs and Kamui came thundering through his mind. The torrent of memories featured Mei as she re-dyed her hair, of Tabs who learned to stand with his shoulders back and his chin up, of Kamui who licked the blood from his fingers, and of Abuto who repeatedly told him again and again that _he was not his father_.

But somehow he was.

And wasn't.

"Sir." Swiftly, both Raku and Jenhao took a knee. The employees milling about the hotel, doing their daily duties, halted and lined up along the walls, eyes respectfully lowered.

"At ease," Linter told them, waving a hand. If he was anything, he was many forms of leadership. He was an army commander, he was a president, he was the man who told the greatest wisdoms.

But he wasn't a father, was he?

"Jenhao," said the tall, authoritative Yato. The resemblance between Linter and his son was uncanny, so much so that the former petty officer found himself reacting immediately to his commanding voice. "I'd like you to secure the Kaientai. Surely they've fled the scene of the government raid."

"Do you know the status, sir?"

"No, I headed straight here, as you did. Turn on a channel, and you'll find it." Linter quickly surveyed the ragtag group that his organization had just taken in. "Since you're in charge here, Jenhao, I want you to organize a warehouse for storing goods."

And then came Sakamoto.

"Ah, you must be our trading partner!" chortled the human jovially. He reached out a bold hand, and Linter shook it with a gracious smile.

"Sakamoto Tatsuma, it's been quite some time. As always, a pleasure working with you."

"The pleasure's mine! Ahaha!" The brown-haired idiot pushed his sunglasses up his nose and grinned. "Pardon me, but I seem to have lost my ship. I'm sure Mutsu's got it under control, though. But in the business sense, this is a great time to share stories of our travels! Did you know that the terminal's lockdown was actually a raid?"

Several people wanted to clock the man with shovels, but refrained from doing so.

"I did not," Linter replied, playing along right with the man's idiocy. He didn't really mind, so long as Sakamoto shut up sometime soon. "I was also not aware of all the extra travelers you brought with."

"Oh," Sakamoto said, turning, "This here is Mutsu's old cousin, and here are some friends from Earth!"

Zenshi didn't have a shovel, but he did have an umbrella shotgun.

"He doesn't even know your names, does he?" whispered Jenhao.

"I don't think he remembers anyone's name," Zenshi muttered.

Linter returned his gaze to his son. "I was expecting Zenshi, but not his friends."

"You have yet to address me, Father." Zenshi had his hand habitually wrapped around the hilt of his parasol, despite the fact that it was his father's heirloom, golden insignia pressed against his palm.

"I didn't think I needed to. You're an adult, after all." It was an intended insult, and well-placed. Yet the older man seemed to abhor his own words, reluctant to ridicule his son, whom he was so proud of. Understandably, he was disappointed in Zenshi's choice to join the Harusame, but he was never exactly angry. It was Zenshi that didn't reciprocate his father's well-intentioned feelings, difficult as they were to decipher.

_Father?_ Tsukuyo mouthed to Zenshi, who didn't supply her with an answer.

"Jenhao." Linter nodded towards the door. "The Kaientai, please."

"Right away, sir. Sakamoto-san, if you would please follow me. I'd like you to assist in locating your ships." Jenhao placed a hand on the former Joui warrior's shoulder, leading him to a conference room. "It'll be done quickly."

Another round of odious silence laid between father and son.

"I suppose my methods of calling you out were too extreme, hmm?" Breaking the silence, Linter mirrored the apathetic glare on his son's face. And then, breaking his train of thought, he asked, "How's your mother, do you know?"

"Why don't you?"

"Zenshi."

"She's fine, as far as I know. And I don't know much, yes?"

"Your accent, Zenshi."

It was the same. Nothing had changed. He was still a defiant boy, still a creature of nomadic thinking, wandering until he found something he liked. His deliberate slip into typical Yato speech was to irritate his father. And that was all he needed to know, all Zenshi needed to confirm that he was still just a boy, and that the years away had not changed him.

He disappointed himself.

"Well, nonetheless," Linter sighed. He angled his body away from his son, cutting short their unsatisfactory conversation, and found his next target in Tsukuyo. "You seem to have neglected your friends, Zenshi. Introduce me to these Earthlings."

His voice was just short of contempt, as he was apt to do when manipulating others. Tsukuyo detested it; she didn't like it, not one bit.

"I'm Tsukuyo, leader of the Hyakka," she declared outright. "We're here because _that _man—" A finger pointed at Raku. "—terrorized our city and bombed our home. He's a Harusame hit for hire, and they're tryin' to extinguish human leadership in Yoshiwara."

Raku's long, serpent's tongue flickered between his teeth, his apprehension evident on his features.

"Miss Tsukuyo," Linter replied mildly, "I'm afraid you are mistaken. Neither Raku nor the Harusame bombed your home."

Tsukuyo whipped around then, as she had been facing Raku, to stare at Linter. The man's regal eyes, the same dark blue as Zenshi's, as well as the high cheekbones, the severe lines, they were so much of the Yato she knew and loved that she hesitated. But her perseverance, her willful determination to protect Yoshiwara, won out in the end.

"It's true, Raku is a hit for hire, but he's not responsible for anything that has recently occurred on Earth."

Suddenly Zenshi grabbed Tsukuyo by the arm and pulled her back. His fist clenched so hard around the woman's wrist that she winced, but the grip was protective, and she could not break loose anyway.

The younger Yato snarled, looking more and more like a wolf with its lips pulled back into a threat.

"Perceptive, as always," said Linter. "My son knows now the true reasons behind that attack. I must apologize for the damages and the confusion, seeing as you believe the Harusame had ulterior motives. But they're not the ones responsible."

Tsukuyo suddenly understood why Zenshi was shielding her with his body. Linter smiled, sadly and cruelly.

"I am."

* * *

><p><strong>.: -HARUSAME 7th DIVISION- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"This place is so colorful, it makes me want to barf." Mei tapped the glass.

"Don't tap the glass, it disturbs the asteroids," Tabs whispered, wiggling his brows.

"For the last time, Tabs, there is no asteroid belt here!"

"Lieutenant." Jinlin, looking plain and displeased as she always was, had been waiting for Mei to respond for the last ten minutes. Truth be told, Jinlin longed for the days when the sound of her footsteps alerted her lieutenant of her presence. Mei, prone to temporary, deliberate deafness, was more difficult to catch. "We've been informed by the Sciuttlan Department of Civil Safety that current landing in East Tomokaz's terminals is impossible. They're under heavy security lockdown."

"So, a raid." Mei stared at Jinlin, and Jinlin — somewhat surprised that the younger girl had actually been listening — stared back.

" 'Heavy security lockdown'," Jinlin offered, straight off the papers she'd been handed.

"Right. And?"

"Vice-captain Abuto suggests we simply land right outside the regular airport. There's a stretch of open land on that side of the city, where it's more suburban."

"Why are you asking me? That sounds good, go tell our stupid _Danchou_."

"Lieutenant, you're in charge of foreign relations."

"Oh just get Zen—" Mei froze. "Oh fine," she spat, snatching the papers from Jinlin's hands. She still had a habit of referring all tedious paperwork to the absent Zenshi, failing to remember that she had a little Harusame badge that assured her of his former title.

Stalking down the starboard side of the ship, Mei scanned the documents that Jinlin had so nicely handed to her. The ship traffic in the area was heavy, but continuing to lighten as a few ships touched down in the terminal's designated waiting areas, and others followed the Harusame lead and landed in the emptied lot of the Sciuttlan airport. The planes had all been docked at proper gates, leaving runways open for landing.

As they floated down the planet, transport officials securing the spaceships the best they could — after all, how is one to suspend a boat-shaped spaceship in a land-bound airport? — another ship rose up past them. Just the color and the tip of a cannon on the ship nominated a slim memory in Mei's head.

Tabs, who was always beside her, pointed out the window.

"Isn't that the Kaientai?"

Indeed it was.

* * *

><p>You know, Tsukuyo, at least it wasn't any... <em>puff puff <em>action.

_I've never seen a sukonbu in the flesh..._

_I cut my teeth on diamond rings, in my drawers_

_And I'm proud of my address_

_in the middle of Edo, yeah postcode envy_

*some more lyrics*

_And yes I'm a ROYALLL royalll_

_Tokugawa runs in our blood_

_Yes that luxe is just for us_

_Shigeshige's on a bus..._

Wait, bus?

-sung by Soyo-


	52. - Fifty-Two -

Ahhh sorry for the slow updates! As I said, updates will be much, much slower from now on. I'm in sports and clubs; the competitive seasons start now. It's super time-consuming and so tiring! is also malfunctioning with copy and paste so I'm cheating and using an old document to submit.

(honestly, I also fell really hard for a guy, made up my mind to try and hang out with him, and then my friend broke my heart by showing me he had a girlfriend...but it appears they have broken up, but I'm already in shambles so who the cheesecake even cares. I want to be cheese fondue)

**DISCLAIMER: Gintama belongs to Sorachi Hideaki, and you know, if he wants to be a cheesecake, then let the man be a cheesecake. I approve 100%.**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Eyes of Wolves<strong>

_- 52 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: -KAIENTAI- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Mutsu-_taichou_, wasn't that the Harusame?"

Mutsu slammed her fist on a button and the screen in front of her switched to a posterior camera.

Yes, that was the Harusame, complete with their entire 7th Division fleet spelling disaster for them all.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"You could have killed them," Zenshi seethed, relaxing his grip on Tsukuyo's wrist.

"And you care, why?" He was mocking his son again. Linter was fully aware of the fact that Zenshi had grown attached to quaint little Earth; he had expected, knowing his son's nature, Zenshi to deter the women from leaving Yoshiwara. In fact, Linter had predicted, two hundred steps ago, that Harusame's former foothold on Earth would rebel. He had mistakenly assumed that his son was aggressive enough and chivalrous enough to shoulder the burden himself. A ridiculous assumption. Linter recognized his mistakes when he saw them, and he would not blame the grief of someone's death or the forlorn letters from his wife for his blunders.

Zenshi went deadly still.

"You _know_ why."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, ONE WEEK AGO :.<strong>

He unclipped the clothes from the hanging line outside, handing them to Hinowa because she was stationary in her wheelchair.

It was then that Tsukuyo practically stalked outside, her heels sinking into the soft grass littered with a few early autumn leaves.

"Something the matter, Tsukki?" inquired Hinowa, holding out a large basket that Zenshi dropped one of Seita's yukatas into.

"I'm checkin' the west side today. I might be late fer dinner."

"That's fine. Don't push yourself too much, okay?" Hinowa always had such a sweet, motherly tone. It was hard to disobey. The woman wheeled around, basket in lap, to the end of the small courtyard garden where she traded it for another bin full of washed clothes to dry. Somehow, she had managed to develop a little laundry business for Yoshiwarans and Hyakka members alike.

While she was turned, Tsukuyo reached over and wrapped her fingers indignantly around his collar. She missed fabric and instead grabbed a golden chain that dangled from one of the ornaments. He was tempted to protest the abuse to his outfit, but the blonde courtesan shot up on her tiptoes and placed a haphazard kiss on jaw.

And then she turned, walked away with her maple leaf kimono falling in smooth lines around her legs, ignoring him for the rest of his stunned silence.

Hinowa smiled and pretended not to see.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Night fell on Sciuttla far more quickly than expected. Long after Zenshi had turned in thick silence, giving his father the cold shoulder, the Kaientai had radioed in on a secure line. By then, the hotel had gone quiet, most of its refugee residents taking to rooms and cots and sequestered family squares for the night. The guests from Earth were divvied up into a few hotel rooms. The Hyakka were lucky enough to be offered one of the suites — which, unfortunately for the refugees, had been closed off to make arrangements fairer — while Zenshi and Sakamoto found a room nearby.

When Mutsu's call was patched through a series of bounced towers, Jenhao came immediately to his former lieutenant's door.

"Sir, we've got a problem." Jenhao, ever mild and patient, was uncharacteristically uneasy.

Zenshi nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"The Harusame's 7th is here."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, ONE WEEK AGO :.<strong>

She leaned towards him.

He caught her eye.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Sometimes he cannot see his own feet in front of him, and it's not because of the dark.

Now is one of those times, but he moves forth nonetheless, leaving all certainty behind.

* * *

><p><strong>.: EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He clings to the edge of the metal table with pale fingers, just able to watch the quick flicker of his aunt's hands as they scissor back and forth. She executes everything with grace and strength, working so quickly as to prevent the Yato bones from weaving back together before she is done operating.

"Zenshi, come from his side and watch here." She points to a divot in the small child's head; it doesn't look normal, but it must've been from prongs that assisted in birth, Auntie explains. He watches with natural and abundant curiosity, falling in time with her delicate yet confident movements. The young Yato boy absorbs her technique instantaneously.

He remembers when she sets a broken arm.

He remembers when she amputates a man's leg at the knee.

He remembers when a young girl, broken and lost and emotionally bruised, comes in and Auntie simply listens when it's time to listen and speaks when it's time to speak, until the girl can stand up, less shakily than before, and walk home with less darkness in her eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Morning came with such rage and intense light that Zenshi hardly noticed the sun rise. He waited for about an hour after Jenhao's urgent announcement before stirring Tsukuyo, allowing the blonde courtesan a few more precious minutes of sleep they would lack for the next few days.

A large screen in the hotel's conference room was manned by several Sciuttlan Amanto, plus Jenhao and Linter. Mutsu appeared on the screen, with her men scuttling about behind her.

"As you can see, we're skirting the southern borders," she inflected in her pragmatic, monotone voice. "The Harusame touched down as soon as we left. I'm pretty sure they noticed us."

Alongside the main projector, a few women were monitoring screens sporting bright, moving radars and dots. From the frequency of little green dots on the black panels, Zenshi assumed they were airway traffic monitors. There was a large, pulsating target on one particular green speck; most likely, it was the Kaientai's fleet.

"Uncle," Mutsu said through the microphone, urgently. "I have reason to believe they're tailing us."

Almost in unison, Linter and Zenshi checked the blinking screen, scanning from larger green icons to the smaller ones. Indeed, a tiny blip was wading back and forth behind Mutsu's last ship, and it was unidentified. Most of the stats on the board could be magnified, naming each ship — merchant, travel, private — and official destination. For Mutsu to be traveling along the southern edge of the city, where a long, secured wall separated city from vast plains cut only by a desolate transcontinental train, meant she was off the air traffic regulations.

"I see," Linter responded. "Do you have visual on them?"

"Occasionally." Mutsu transferred their communications camera to that of one of the smaller ship's. "There."

A little space yacht floated in and out of few, weaving behind a few sparse, old buildings and intermingling with a couple of wayward travelers on the same path. The government seemed to fail to notice that the little southern alleyway, the gap between city and rolling hills, was a highway for incognito travelers.

"That's definitely theirs," Zenshi confirmed. "I typically used that one."

"Of course you did," sighed Mutsu, but not unkindly. "All right, we have confirmation," she called over her shoulder as the camera refocused on her seat. "Let them know in the Left Arm's bridge."

Never a very congenial girl, Mutsu hardened her glare and stared squarely into the camera.

"Plans? Zenshi?"

He appreciated the fact that she naturally addressed him first, but was hardly cordial in accepting his father's interruption.

"Let them follow. It's simply a reconnaissance type ship. Find their motives first. We may gain the upper hand," Linter instructed definitively, expunging any sort of evasive tactics Mutsu might have prepared.

"Bad idea," Tsukuyo suddenly broke in. "This is the Harusame."

Everyone looked at her, but the courtesan of death was pallid and stoic. Zenshi felt a glib pride in her confidence, in her unwavering stance. It mattered not that she was the only human in the room, that she was a woman and a foreigner. She was Tsukuyo.

And her statement was completely valid — this was, indeed, the _Harusame_, and its most powerful fleet nonetheless.

"Tsukuyo is right," Zenshi affirmed. "Reconnaissance or not, they are capable of taking down an armada twice the size of the Kaientai. I'm not underestimating you, Mutsu, but it's fair warning."

"You seem to forget that my father was a pirate," deadpanned Mutsu. "I know very well what we're capable of, and what they're capable of. And if that new lieutenant is anything to go by, the extent of their experience is clear as day."

"I see you remember my loudmouthed aide, then?"

"Who wouldn't?" Mutsu rolled her eyes. "Does it appear to be her?"

"They're weaving in the typical fashion I order, so yes, I'd say so."

"How delightful. Get my captain out here." Mutsu waved her hand.

"He's asleep."

At this, Mutsu didn't seem surprised.

That is, until an officer burst into the room, the camera was jolted from its position, and someone yelled, "Hard to port side!" and the line went black.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, ONE WEEK AGO :.<strong>

"What are you guys _doing_?" asked Seita, making a face. Hinowa was horribly tempted to laugh aloud, but knew it was a brash action, so she bit her lower lip and waited for the young man and the young woman to reply to her son.

"I am instructing Tsukuyo in the ancient art of laundry folding," Zenshi informed the boy flatly, so genteel in the way he smoothed a florid, gaudy yukata. He pitied the man who owned the dreadful thing. There was a certain extent to which one wondered what kind of people came to Hinowa's modest Laundromat.

"It's _laundry_."

"Do ya want to do _this_ or homework?" Tsukuyo spat, crumpling a fine shirt in her hands. Zenshi cast her a sidelong glance, and she seemed to realize what she was doing. "Or do ya want to iron this?"

"I ain't doin' nothin'," Seita drawled, mimicking her accent. Her face flushed, and she got to her feet, which sent the boy flying out the door with a grin on his face.

"Well hey," Hinowa said softly, "You got rid of him. And thank you for helping me, both of you."

"You can't possibly do all this on yer own," Tsukuyo reasoned. "How many people came in today?"

"Over forty. And most of them need custom tailoring."

"What's the big deal?"

"Soyo-hime is having a banquet."

"And thus, Tsukuyo, the ancient art of folding." Zenshi touched her elbow; she sat back down.

They leaned towards each other, and Hinowa, again, pretended not to notice.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

When the camera flashed back on, the supposedly secure line had been intercepted, and an all too familiar face appeared.

"Wow, I can even see you guys," drawled the 7th Division lieutenant. "Mucchi, you would think that secure lines are secure."

"Well, _sorry_," Mutsu snarled, appearing on another half of the screen as her camera was rebooted. "You didn't have to shoot a _missile_ at us, either."

"Hey, your last ship didn't heed our warning," Mei replied easily. "Now, who are we talking t—"

"Unrestricted missile warfare on merchant ships was banned by the Intergalactic Admiral's Pledge thirteen years ago. Would you like to be detained for violating airway traffic laws?"

There was terse silence, and then Mei said:

"Zen?"

But then the next voice that came in belonged to Tabs, and he interjected:

"Unrestricted and _unwarned _missile warfare, Lieutenant."

Obviously, the former aide and the technician were rather incapable of holding mature conversation, because Mei went off on a tangent and began chastising the poor boy for calling Zenshi their lieutenant, and then went onto harp about Zenshi himself.

"Mutsu." Zenshi nodded at his cousin, who then opened up the video connection and allowed the Harusame to see Zenshi in a narrow window, revealing nothing else of the conference room. The tall, dark-haired Yato stared impassively at his friend, whose cropped hair looked brighter than before and whose eyes flaunted about a tad less. "Mei, has the position matured you at all?"

But the easy, level smirk on Mei's face dropped. She flashed the ring on her left index finger, as did Tabs.

"Perhaps," she said, nearly inaudibly. "But I can't make any suspicious moves now, can I? Now…"

Mutsu's end of the camera rattled and shook; most likely another vital hit.

"Lights out, Lieutenant."

* * *

><p>Okay, so this chapter was super duper hard to write, but hey I got it out.<p>

You have some ZenTsu (yey)

and some other stuff...

Questions? Comments? I know the end if kind of lacking...I just wanted to get through with it and give you guys something haha...XD


	53. - Fifty-Three -

Finally, a chapter! Sorry for the delay, again, I'm SUPER BUSY. It's overwhelming!

Also, maybe it's not the super action-filled chapter you desired, but I promise it has...stuff.

Here you go!

**Disclaimer: Let it gooo Let it goooo it's not even Sorachi's anymoreee**

**dorobooo dorobooo**

**don't steal that movie no moreeeeee**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Eyes of Wolves<strong>

_- 53 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: -HARUSAME 7th DIVISION- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"_Danchou_," drawled Abuto, surveying the flickering screen before him. "Looks like our girly took down the Kaientai."

"Oh?" Kamui grinned. "Has she?"

Abuto threw his commander a disparaging grimace. The scarlet-headed boy hummed to himself, rather cheerfully enjoying the reverberating crash that buzzed through the feed.

"See for yourself," said the vice-captain, gesturing to the live video.

"I see it, Abuto." Kamui's tone went low, his smile withering like ash. "But I don't believe it."

There were times when the younger Yato was frighteningly perceptive, frighteningly keen. But Abuto was deft and subtle and managed all of his years far better than Kamui managed his strength.

"Something on your mind?"

"I'm going to follow up on them."

Kamui, following up personally?

Kamui, failing to smile?

Abuto didn't dare swallow or object; he never glanced at the ring on his finger.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

When he meets Ensign Delong, a peculiar camaraderie bristles between them like an alpha wolf that cannot decide whether the peculiar moon is friend or foe. Almost immediately, they survey one another with brief abandon. They both have hair cropped short, the back buzzed level, and they both sport simple earrings — Zenshi's black obsidian, and Delong's untarnished silver.

They finished initiation about an hour ago and are being assigned to higher officers. Among Zenshi's group are a few he recognizes: Mei, his old friend who ran straight into him maybe fifteen minutes ago, Zhuyi, the skinny boy from their orientation session, and a few Yato that he felt like might have lived in the same town.

"Seaman 373."

Zenshi raises his eyes and meets the ensign's. The man is, Zenshi realizes, not that much older than himself, perhaps residing in his mid-twenties give or take a few years. There is a simple, western-Earth style wedding band on his ring finger; he looks harried but efficient, finding no problem in Zenshi's wordlessness.

"Seaman 374."

Mei raises her hand.

"Seaman 378."

Zhuyi.

And the list goes on until Ensign Delong has a rack of eight newbies on his hands. He spells both death and disgust on his face, as if the thought of having to deal with a clot of young, inexperienced not-yet-pirates was the bane of his existence. And it probably was.

He surprises them all by announcing that they would go through a strength evaluation test. Some, like Zhuyi, nervous by nature, are taken aback. Others scoff at the idea, because they are Yato and simply Yato.

"This is the Harusame," Delong states without ornament. "You'll die if you overestimate yourself."

And so, there they are, oddly enough being observed by Kamui who has had the good fortune of immediate promotion. In fact, he sits with honorary title of _captain_ at the measly age of eleven, to be diligent student of vice-captain Abuto until he "gets the hang of things."

"I don't overestimate myself," Zhuyi whispers under his breath.

"Don't whisper, I hear all," deadpans Delong. He snaps his fingers and points at Zhuyi. "You, skinny kid, you're up first."

"_Yessirrightaway_," Zhuyi stumbles over his tied tongue. He steps up to the little sparring area in the large training hall.

Without waiting a beat, Delong swings a simple punch. Zhuyi, by mostly luck and mostly Yato instinct, dodges and strikes back. He lacks coordination and skill, so his jab falls short and Delong snags his wrist and throws him to the mat. The boy lands with an unceremonious thump, and the entire group can hear the impact of his skin and bones body on the ground.

Delong is about to call for the next young recruit, but Zhuyi lurches to his feet and manages to grab the ensign's umbrella, drawing it with a wrenching motion and snapping it open. The older officer raises his arm in defense, but the skinny boy is surprisingly forceful in the next incredible push. It's visible then, Zhuyi's strength and background. He has seventeen years of pushing heavy plows when clogged in mud, seventeen years of throwing sacks of purple barley over his shoulder, seventeen years of cutting and carrying timber when the farm doesn't produce enough profit.

The ensign steps around the parasol and places a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"This is the Harusame," he says, quietly, "but don't _under_estimate yourself, either."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Sir," called a tech, "connection has been lost."

There was no indication of who was addressed, and because three different people immediately attempted to take charge, a disoriented chaos ensued.

"Send out a squad immediately," Jenhao ordered.

"Reestablish camera connection via reconnaissance," Zenshi interrupted.

"Remain where you are, no action shall be taken," Linter commanded.

All three men exchanged glances.

Jenhao looked compelled to listen to Zenshi, but was somewhat torn. He wisely kept his mouth shut, exchanging a wary glance with Tsukuyo and her women.

"We wait. We shan't give them a chance to locate us. It's too risky." Linter's voice was hard, but it was nothing that intimidated his son.

"Send out reconnaissance." His son was equally stubborn, however. Stubborn in that when the time called for a commanding voice, he had it, and he sounded just like Linter.

"Too. Risky."

"Reconnaissance."

"No."

"Will both of ya just shut yer traps?! We'll go."

Everyone turned and stared at Tsukuyo; the room went silent, save for the erratic beeping of the radar struggling to relocate the Kaientai's ship. The shock did not dwindle, but instead it increased when the straw-haired courtesan took the lead and marched herself and her three Hyakka out of the room, motioning for one of the techs to show them the way.

"Well look at that," Linter said, dropping his formal tone in the way he did when he scolded his son, "you let _that _side show up, and she didn't seem to like it."

Zenshi stared at the man.

"Don't pretend it didn't happen, Zenshi. You're just as confrontational as I am."

But the older Yato had struck the chord, and the notes resounded erratically with Zenshi, who suffered into his enameled silence with a glower.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Next."

The brawny Yato girl throws heavy punches, but none land. Delong subsequently announces that she has potential, but no coordination. She pretends not to be offended.

"Next."

Some of the fierce boys that look like they grew up in the gutters are witty and use underhanded tricks. They aren't scolded for their ways, but Delong has seen it all. They, too, have potential, but still remain sloppy.

"Next."

Mei doesn't even step onto the mat when Delong strikes, but she's more than ready, enticed by the challenge. It's almost as if the older Yato can gauge the level of a new recruit just on looks alone, because he enmeshes their spar with great verve and intensity. Mei is no pushover, either. Light-footed and incredibly flexible, she dances.

She lands one hard blow on the man's shoulder; he smiles.

"Not bad," he says, whistling. "Not bad at all. Where did you come from, tigress?"

Mei decides she likes the nickname, because she's grinning from ear to ear.

"Guess."

"Capital city's west side."

"Nope." Mei finds something amusing in the fact that Delong names the capital's shadiest district, and Zenshi suspects it's because she likes looking the part. No longer is she the preppy younger sister of a star.

"Spill, then." Delong crosses his arms.

"Omega Centauri Intergalactic Space Academy, top 99th percentile."

At this, there are only wry smiles of disbelief.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Are you going to let your little lady go?"

He was condescending, aggravatingly so.

Zenshi turned sharply on his heel and swept out of the room, in pursuit of the Courtesan of Death.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Next."

This time, the young Yato doesn't even have a chance to move, because Delong has drawn his parasol so quickly that most eyes fail to catch it — he shoots and then drives his fist down hard, so hard that the reinforced steel floor endures a painful dent. Most of the recruits leap back in alarm, eyes glued to the spot Delong's fist has made itself present, because there is no one there. One of them probably believes that the ensign's punch has disintegrated whatever being might have once stood there.

But of course, there is always an explanation.

There is explanation for the ostensible grin that splits across Delong's features, because he has _found_ something, and that something is unbearably delicious. Formidable opponents are hard to find.

Zenshi lands, light, soundless, and drives his parasol into the back of Delong's head. The ensign ducks and shoots again, but Zenshi melds away from the bullet like it is miles away. Of course, the senior officer has more experience — he has confident, orderly attacks made unreadable by syncopated, random rhythms — but Zenshi is manipulative and difficult to predict.

"You look familiar," Delong calls, not even flinching as the barrel of Zenshi's umbrella gun lines up with his face. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like that damn politician?"

He's pushing buttons, and he knows it.

"Of course," Zenshi replies flatly. The Yato recruit with the scarred face throws his elbow down so hard that he nearly embeds himself in the metal floor.

"Oh really?" Delong clips Zenshi in the jaw with a forceful palm, but doesn't escape the hook of Zenshi's kick.

Zenshi smirks.

"I'm that damn politician's son, after all."

* * *

><p><strong>.: ONE YEAR AGO :.<strong>

Delong has nicknames for everyone.

Zhuyi, who is now Tabs, is "Skinny Kid," despite the fact that time has livened up his frame and made him into a fine, filled out young man.

Mei is "Tigress," because the moniker caught her fancy on that first day of squad orientation, and it fits her to the nth degree.

Kamui is fondly dubbed "Red Beard," and Delong can get away with it because he's friendly in a terse, unfriendly way by nature. A paradoxical man is never really accepted by Kamui, but Delong seems to be the exception. The fact that everyone has a strange nickname probably lightens the captain's mood.

Abuto is "Whisky," which is probably short for "Whiskers" — the poor vice-captain isn't sure he likes that, but there's nothing he can do. In fact, there are viable suspicions that Abuto and Delong are the same age.

Jinlin, Delong's cousin, is either "Cuz" or "Beverly." Why Beverly, no one knows. In fact, he probably calls her that to make her mad, which is quite the difficult feat knowing the impassive Jinlin.

He calls just about everyone "brat" if they're younger, and the old lady chef and her husband, the physician, are given nicknames that everyone follows. In fact, Delong is the one who coined "Pepper" — short for pepperlily, a fragrant dessert flavor their lovely chef is known for — and "Dr. Steth" for the old man's handy stethoscope that sees enough use to make it break.

And Zenshi. With his lieutenant, Delong is very curt but very sarcastic. "Damn politician" is a common one, and there won't pass a week without Delong fitting in a "Hello Mr. Senator, how do you do?" with a derisive grin here and there.

And, simply because it's Delong, and because Abuto only sighs and no one actually takes it to heart, Zenshi lets him.

* * *

><p><strong>.: -KAIENTAI- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Like I said, you didn't have to shoot _missiles_ at us."

"Oh Mucchi, you're such a drama queen." Mei's form of apology was timely but rather insufficient for the harried virtual captain of the well-to-do merchant company. "Now, pick a few people to get out of here with. The rest will be 'captives' for now."

"You also make _the_ most convoluted, inconvenient plans," Mutsu grumbled. Tabs grinned at this, but received an elbow to the ribs.

"Well, whatever works, works," sighed Mei. "Can't have it look like I'm blatantly disobeying Kamui, can I?"

"You blatantly disobey everyone," snorted Mutsu.

"Mucchi, puh-lease," drawled Mei. "Let's get moving, though."

"Yes, let's do that. And where are we going?"

"We're—" Mei froze. Tabs's grip on her shoulder was like ice, like stone, like death. Mutsu turned around, and everyone ceased movement. A single breath would be treacherous. A single breath meant instant death.

"I asked you, _where are we going_?"

Kamui never waited for a single breath to be drawn.

After all, the admiral waits for none.

* * *

><p>Is it just me or is Zenshi becoming more and more talkative? I swear...<p>

And also, if anything between him and his father is unclear, ask away!

...frick frack. Linter why you so mean when you love your son?! WHY.

Also: ZenTsu is so hard to write, but it'll come. Fingers crossed!


	54. - Fifty-Four -

AT LONG LAST! I've been SO busy it's UNBELIEVABLE!

But...for the kind readers who have waited so long... A NEW CHAPTERRRR.

Full of random stuff, hehe. That's a tendency of mine. Let's see where it goes!

(to that one guest: I got an email notification and you motivated me to squeeze in the time!)

**DISCLAIMER: Gintama is Sorachi's. Also. CavAlato rewatched Be Forever Yorozuya, and it is a masterpiece. /CRY FOREVER**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Eyes of Wolves<strong>

_- 54 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

There is something stingy in the way she glares at him because he has almost flirtatiously engaged her family. And it's not flirtatious in the way that he's appealing by looks — it's the way he is so easily appealing, yet he can easily persuade someone that he is not.

But Mei is always Mei.

She's always the younger sister of Aina, the star, Aina the model, Aina the one on that television program or on that radio show or in that new movie, _The Last Love_.

She's always in a shadow of expectation.

Her glare is sad, so sad.

So he stops, because she's his friend, and for the first time since he left the only people he ever knew, he feels pained because another person is hurt.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

He somehow knew the next sequence of events, but never figured out how.

Tsukuyo turned before he could say a word — he didn't know if he'd been ready to say anything in the first place. The woman had grown so accustomed to his nature that she just _turned_ and recognized his presence. In his urgency, he didn't bother with subtlety, after all.

"Ya didn't think I'd actually go, did ya?"

He absolutely despised being caught off guard, being fooled, being deceived, but those negative emotions melted away when she threw him the most lopsided grin he'd ever seen on her face.

And then, with a hesitant flicker in her movements, she quickly reached up and pulled his face down to hers and kissed him.

Her porcelain face went red; she didn't look at him after that.

"Go send yer reconnaissance team. This is yer thing. We can hold the fort here."

The three Hyakka behind her smiled.

When she refused to turn back around in her stubborn, immobile way, Zenshi simply stepped around her, pressed his lips briefly to her forehead, and then ran back for Jenhao.

* * *

><p><strong>.: -KAIENTAI- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"When pawn become useless, you throw them away." Kamui smiled. "At least, that's what Hosen told me once."

"And you listened?" spat Mei, kicking a shard of debris away from herself. Rather than shard of debris, it more closely resembled a strip of metal Kamui had torn from the ship wall with his bare hands that he'd proceeded to throw at them mercilessly. Mutsu, who fared just fine, was more upset about the fact that her ship was being demolished than anything else.

"Of course not. Why would you throw a pawn away? They could double-cross you." Kamui put his hand on the hole he'd just created. "Instead, you kill them."

"Your entire crew is gone, then."

"My crew or your crew?" Kamui tore another piece of wall out, metal crumpling in his hands like paper.

"Will you quit damaging my ship?" hissed Mutsu, staggering to her feet and drawing a gun.

"Your ship? Oh right, your ship." Kamui grinned his grin. And they knew that those piercing blue eyes were anything but smiling, for they were perspicuously bright, shining with such fervent blood-lust that there was no erasing anything.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

There were two looks that Linter was famous for, one of which he wore 99 percent of the time, and the other remaining for the one out of a hundred times he ever spent in truth. The former was the appearance of eruditeness, of wisdom, of grace and strength and all that one should ever need to manipulate souls out of their host containers. And the other was the estranged repentance, the divulged, relenting sight that he thought fatuous. But it meant all the world to his family. It was that strange, unfitting little smile that knew all and felt all that his wife cherished, that his son looked forward to.

It meant that he cared.

And it meant that he understood.

His son never stopped waiting for that smile to return, even if it was only expressed through silence and sad, sad eyes.

Linter admitted to losing it. He smiled, of course, in the way that his son hated, and he was well aware of the boy's feelings. The father had let himself become carried away by power and greed and everything far from his family. And because of that, his wife was lonely and abandoned, his sister-in-law dead, his brother-in-law dead, and his son floating ever more distant.

So he smiled.

If only his son had thanked him, then he might've been forgiven.

But he wasn't, and he didn't expect to be.

* * *

><p><strong>.: -KAIENTAI- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Now, how should I execute you? Slowly? Quickly?"

It had taken Kamui a total of fifteen minutes to find Mei's meandering vessel and the damanged Kaientai. It took him only three to demolish half of the beaten up merchant ship and disable the cannons.

"Painfully? Painlessly? Painfully."

"Kamui, wait." Mutsu hovered over Mei, who clutched her left leg, in which yet another metal shard had sliced through. "Get your priorities straight."

"I am the admiral of the Harusame," drawled Kamui. "I think I can put my priorities where I feel fit."

"You're an idiot," spat Mei.

"So are you." Kamui grinned. "Riddle me this, Ms. Lieutenant. What are the chances that someone comes to your aid in the next five minutes, as I kill you all slowly and painfully? Someone with…a ring like yours."

He gestured at the silver bands both of them wore.

Mei didn't hesitate: "Zero," she declared. "Zero percent."

"You sure? I actually think someone might come," Kamui mused aloud. "_I wonder who_."

Mei shook her head.

"Zero percent."

And she was right, and it wasn't the type of right that garnered her praise, it was the type that saved her life, because within the next five minutes, the man that found them didn't wear a ring; he didn't _need _ a ring.

And Kamui should have noticed.

He turned.

And he found himself staring into the face of a man who didn't wear rings, who didn't label himself with anything other than himself.

A man who only needed scars and memories and places and people to tell him who he was and what he fought for.

"Good to see you, Lieutenant," Mei croaked.

"Good to see you too, Mei."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

It rains forever.

But his father still comes home.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Kamui was a devotee to himself.

Or so he believed.

So when the red-haired Yato's fist collided with Zenshi's jaw and sent the older man flying, and Mei cried out, he felt nothing.

But when Mei suddenly croaked that name, _that name_, Kamui wanted nothing more than to crush skulls between his fingers because the desuetude of his heart had rusted painfully.

_Kagura_.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Kamui stares out the window, and for once, Zenshi knows what the boy thinks.

There is no forward.

No behind.

No left, no right.

No up, no down.

There is nothing.

And it is everything.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Kamui shut his mind down. Zenshi drew his parasol and shot, but the boy was too nimble, dodging quickly and seeming to ricochet off the remaining walls with unnatural speeds.

"Did you know," the younger Yato called, "I was promoted?"

"I could tell you I cared," replied Zenshi, dodging behind a half-demolished control panel, his opponent's bullets ricocheting off the metal boards. "But I'd be lying."

"Oh, you care," whistled Kamui. Finding an open time interval, the red-haired boy took two seconds to turn and shoot at the scattered Kaientai crewmen. Several old, haggard samurai wielded both swords and pistols, reading the commands of Mutsu with quick, nimble agility.

Mei, who had rather brashly ripped the shard of metal from her leg — thus allowing a large fountain of blood to splurge from her leg — proceeded to chuck said shard in Kamui's direction, ignoring the nausea that accompanied the act.

"You have a death wish," hissed Mutsu, tearing her scarf from around her neck and hastily wrapping it around Mei's leg.

"So do you. Why are you even helping me?" Mei took Mutsu's gun and aimed it over the barrier of blasted doors they'd erected.

"I'm not going to answer that." Mutsu tied a heavy knot around the other Yato woman's leg, frowning at the fact that the fabric was already soaked through.

"Sorry to ruin your scarf," said Mei, "did your boyfriend give it to you?"

Mutsu glared. "Careful with that gun, it's got quite the recoil."

Mei pulled her arms back to her chest, ducking when a stream of bullets came flying their way. "I can take care of myself, Mucchi."

"If you two will _stop bickering_…" Zenshi found himself parrying more than one Yato now — aside from the blatant murderous aura of Kamui, two others without the silver alliance rings had boarded the ship. The human crewmembers were downed with unconcerned nonchalance; Mutsu was far from happy when the two Harusame officers arrived.

"Oh shut up, Lieutenant, we're _working _here." Mei staggered to her feet and aimed at Kamui, firing steady shots until the gun ran out of bullets.

"You've succeeded in upsetting a psychopath, I see," snorted Mutsu, taking her gun back and reloading.

"His sister is always taboo," replied Mei, shrugging. "What can I say? I like ticking people off."

"Obviously," Mutsu and Zenshi chimed in unison.

"I'd suggest you stop hiding," called Kamui. "You all know I don't have the patience to do this stand and shoot thing."

He smiled then, but only up to the point where his two men simultaneously collapsed to the ground, bullets in their backs. At first, the Yato boy didn't react. His two crewmen were in spasms on the ground, the deleterious bullets bleeding a thick blackish-blue instead of red.

"Mutsu! I told you not to alter the ship without my permission!"

Kamui swiveled on his heel, looking half enraged and half intrigued.

"_Samurai_."

* * *

><p><strong>.: THIRTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"You have to sneak around on your own ship?" Mutsu asks.

"It's not my ship."

They creep along the walls, conspicuously playing ninja, never once believing the idea that a ship would never be their own. They are naïve and young and mindlessly absorbed in their tasks, ignoring the woes of their parents they decry and embody all at once.

"If it's not your ship, then why are you on it?" Mutsu adds, after thirty seconds of snooping or so. They have been doing this slow, menacing crawl for only a minute, but both have forgotten their true purposes already. For Mutsu, she wonders why she's shuffling about on her uncle's ship, and for Zenshi, he wonders why he's even on the ship at all.

"That," Zenshi tells her, "is a good question."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"This is _my_ ship," Mutsu snarled, her reloaded gun aimed over their barricade. "I do what I want with it."

"Oi, Mutsu, that's—"

A hand grabbed Sakamoto by the collar and forced him to hit the floor. The former Joui patriot hit the deck with such force that he was duly discombobulated for a hefty half minute or so. The one that dragged him down was none other than a fellow human, looking pissed and as far from smiles as possible.

The Courtesan of Death herself threw Sakamoto aside and briefly let out a string of such unrepeatable swears that even Mei looked put off.

Zenshi made a face that quite adamantly demanded to know why she was here. Any words would have been pointless, because Mutsu had begun shooting, and Kamui slung the stilled bodies around him as shields.

"Don't even bother," Tsukuyo hollered. "No one else was gonna follow'im."

Sakamoto, at some point, was thrown into the fray, where he rather deftly placed a few shots that skimmed Kamui's sleeve.

"Why'd you leave?!" Mutsu screamed into her captain's face as he wiggled his way closer. Kamui, busy defending, inched his way closer to their fort, ignoring Tsukuyo's onslaught of kunai from behind.

"Aww man, Mutsu, what didya do that scarf?" Dismayed, Sakamoto shook his head, sunglasses slipping down his nose.

"So you _did_ get it from your boyfriend," Mei whispered.

"I will break your pretty little nose," Mutsu hissed.

"_Ladies_." Zenshi took his parasol and drove it mercilessly into Mei's wound. She screamed murder, swearing as colorfully as Tsukuyo, if not more, and throwing in something about a super sadist who would receive some omitted, profane, and violent act done to him in her vengeance.

"I don't get how you're having so much trouble with one guy." Sakamoto shrugged, now picking at the threads coming loose from his jacket. "I mean, can't you—"

The entire ship shook, then. Kamui dropped the corpses of his men and laughed.

"My slowpoke crew is finally here," he announced. The intercom buzzed, and the familiar voice of Abuto came drawling across the ship's premises.

"This is the Harusame speaking. The Kaientai is to—"

A loud crash screeched across the microphone, and their enclosed battle ceased as the sound of a scuffle ensued. A few of Kamui's men could be heard over the hanging microphone, calling for Abuto, but they were abruptly cut off.

"Sorry, Vice Commander, but only _I_ get to touch the intercom."

Kamui's face went dark.

No one ever noticed the skinny, inconspicuous Tabs leave the room.

"Looks like yer not as good as yer sister," Tsukuyo taunted. As Kamui turned, Zenshi made the shot.

But it skimmed past Kamui's ear, heading straight for Tsukuyo.

* * *

><p>Sorry if this is kind of messy. Tell me if anything is OOC.<p>

Also: my headcanon is that Kamui uses violence and his Yato tendencies to wash away any lingering emotions (the warm fuzzy kinds) he possibly feels. So when Mei mentions Kagura, that's when Tabs leaves, because Kamui is so momentarily angry for that one second that _red_ is all he sees.

Uh. Yeah. Also, psychological explanation for other Kamui stuff was explained in ch. 10.

FOR NOW.

HERE IT IS.

Hope to update sooon again!


	55. - Fifty-Five -

**AUTHOR NOTES: **Hello, hello! To the one guest that always sees my deviantART and leaves exciting reviews - thank you a ton! It really makes my day that you like all this, haha! and yes fem!Zenshi is hot hot hot. ALSO: I do plan to draw out more scenes! PLEASE LEAVE SUGGESTIONS!

Other things: ZenTsu is hard to write. Oh pickles.

**Disclaimer: **Jugem-Jugem Poop Throwing Machine Shin-chan's Day Before Yesterday Underwear Shinpachi's Life Balmunk Fezarion Isaac Schneider One Thirds Pure Feeling Two Thirds Worried-Over-A-Hangnail Feeling Though Betrayal Knows My Name Or Does It ?I Know The Unknown The Cuttlefish Tastes Kind Of Different Than It Did Last Time Because It Was Caught Near The Pond And Served With Oil From A Hoofed Mammal, Pepepepepepepepepepepe Take Care From Here On In Please And Finally The End Bichigu Somaru

belongs to Hideaki Sorachi.

(I've done that one before, but I thought it was time to bring Jugem Jugem back hehehe)

* * *

><p><span><strong>Eyes of Wolves<strong>

_- 55 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, FIVE MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

"The Yato Tribe."

Seita, who had sought an answer to his natural inquisitiveness, was slightly taken aback, but it was a reaction that Zenshi anticipated.

"Yato...the real Yato...?" Seita began cautiously.

"Seita, hush," reprimanded Hinowa, decisively ending the conversation. "That's enough."

It was there, in their eyes, and he knew they struggled. This family of humans strove desperately not to judge him, not to view him with slighted eyes. But it was there nonetheless – fear.

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Kaientai Command Center- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Hey now," Abuto said, hands up. "Don't go showing yourself off, now."

Tabs had one hand on his parasol and one hand on the ship's intercom switch. He exchanged glances with the older man; Abuto never gave anything away. The other Yato simply rubbed his stubbly chin and stared. He was the greatest actor of them all.

"Move, and I shoot."

"You're _surrounded_, Tabs," sighed Abuto, leaning on his own umbrella. The crewmen at his flanks, loyal to Kamui and the Harusame, bristled with anticipation of his command. Abuto lamented the fact that he led a pack of hyenas, a group that paled in comparison to the stealthy, lupine shadows that their former lieutenant had taken charge of. But it would have to do.

"It's useless," Tabs said.

_Quit filling the air with your talk, we hear you enough all the time,_ Abuto snarled inwardly. The boy was acting, sure, but it was useless acting.

"Oh quit it, Tabs," hollered one of the crewmen behind the vice-captain. "Just put your hands up."

"You guys should watch your backs." Anxiety permeated Tabs's voice, and his fellow Yato devoured it with predatory hunger.

"_Tabs_," Abuto sighed. "Hands up." Slightly exasperated now, Abuto's mind reeled through his options. Play it out? Turn on his men? No, too obvious. Kill Tabs? Probably not a great idea, but a plausible one. No one on the Harusame side would miss a traitor; everyone on the so-called "traitor" side would be after Abuto's head. Both choices would have his blood spilled, so he decided that the severe repercussions were reason enough to drop the ideas. So, now what? "You're done, Tabs. _Hands. Up_. Don't make me repeat myself. I'm not your mum."

"I _said,_" Tabs insisted, forcefully, "_Watch your backs_."

"Gentlemen, I would take his advice if I were you."

One shot took down a man, diminishing Abuto's four-man backup squad to three. It didn't necessarily kill the Yato, but it certainly decommissioned him. Immediately, the Harusame men instinctively split into two groups – one trained his parasol on Tabs, and the remaining two aimed their weapons at their newest threat.

Almost immediately, they faltered.

"You'd be wise to drop your weapons."

"One step closer, and I shoot," one of the officers warned.

"And threaten the political balance of this side of the universe? I think not. _Lower your weapons_."

One of the men slightly renounced his stance; the other held firm.

"Vice-captain," growled the one that retained his aim. "Your orders?"

"Shoot," Abuto said without hesitation.

But Abuto knew that, the moment he let the word slip from his mouth, that the father of their former lieutenant did not just have power in his name.

He was, after all, a Yato as well.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Sometimes I really wonder what that dumb admiral of ours is doing," Mei muses aloud. "He's pretty dumb."

"You said that twice," Tabs notes.

"He's pretty dumb," Mei repeats, just to humor her friend. "Hey, Zen, what do you think?"

Silence.

"I don't think he answers to that," Tabs whispers. He leans across the conference table, peering at what seems to be diplomatic immunity arrangements. "Hey, Lieutenant, what do you think?"

"He's pretty dumb," Zenshi echoes, never once stopping the quick script of his pen.

"_You're_ pretty dumb," spits Mei, exasperated. "No, stuck-up. That's a better way to say it."

But Zenshi has fallen back to silence, quickly scanning papers for fine print and hidden agreements. He has a knack for spotting loopholes, and it often sentences him to a day of paperwork.

"Don't bother him, Mei," murmurs Tabs. But he himself continues to converse with the girl in hushed tones, convinced that his obnoxiously loud whisper iss reserved enough to carry on a chat.

"Tabs." Zenshi, still never glancing up from his work, taps his pen against the conference table.

"Sir?"

"Out."

Mei sniggers, grabbing other man by the arm and leading him out of the room.

"Well then, have fun with those papers," she sings. "Mr. Politician."

The door slides closed behind them, allowing Zenshi to cap his momentary irritation at the comment. The ship glides away from the Harusame, away from their puppet of an admiral, away from a man capable of manipulating the entire syndicate through intimidation alone – away from his father.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Tsukuyo's vision whirled. A sharp pain grazed her left ear as she staggered backwards. In a split second, a familiar face appeared at her side and a large, calloused hand took hold of her arms.

"Ya almost _shot me_," she hissed, fists bundled into sleeves as she steadied herself.

"You weren't supposed to come."

"Ya never told me I couldn't. And was I supposed t'let Mr. Kaientai just up and away to nowhere in partic'lar?" She pushed away from him, but his grip on her forearms was iron. "And are ya just gonna let us get shot at again?"

Zenshi wasn't at all worried. Mei and Mutsu were relentlessly shooting and reloading, allowing the Yato man to pull Tsukuyo aside. And only MADAO knows what in the world Sakamoto was pulling.

"What is _she_ doing here? Why'd you bring a human?!" demanded Mei, popping up to fire a few shots before ducking back beside Mutsu. Kamui was a one-man army: he threw shards of metal, shrapnel, anything, and only intermittently used his umbrella pistol. He had set the far side of the room on fire, and was currently enjoying the fact that he could shoot the other end of the room and erect another wall of flames.

Zenshi, for the moment, focused only on Tsukuyo.

"Did you come alone?"

"Yes."

She was lying; he felt it in her tone.

"Who else came with you?"

"No one. Just Sakamoto."

The ship's floor rumbled, as if an earthquake within the vessel itself had rippled from the bridge down. Other than Tabs and the Harusame, there weren't any other likely candidates up in the command center. As the floor rumbled again and a trio of Yato men on Kamui's side came loping down the hall, Zenshi froze.

"I would worry about your friends here before anyone else," Kamui said, eyes glinting dangerously. And he had Mei by the throat, Mutsu thrown aside, and Sakamoto nowhere to be seen.

* * *

><p><strong>.: NINE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

If there's anything he's glad to see on this sour, unpleasant day, it's the fact that Mei has no qualms about looking the way she does. She doesn't leave her hair down for graduation, but instead ties it up and lets Kougi tie a silver ribbon in the back. She is her own person – still tired of being mistaken for her sister, still apprehensive of the star that everyone looks up to, but galaxies away from the person people expect her to be. And Zenshi is proud of her for that. He himself will have a ways to go before he is anywhere as free as she is.

"Smile, just for today," Mei requests. "We're _graduating_, can't you be a little more positive? We're finally leaving this piss-hole."

"Language," admonishes Kougi gently. "Watch your language."

"I don't care anymore," sings Mei. "I don't care at all!"

"The Disciplinary Committee will have your head. And then you won't graduate."

"This guy can pull some strings for me." Mei jerks a thumb in Zenshi's direction. "Won't you?"

"What strings?" he deadpans, straightening the cuffs of his sleeves.

Mei rolls her eyes.

"Let's go."

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Kaientai Command Center- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

The bullet barely left the weapon when Linter seized the man by the throat and placed a handgun to his head.

"_Kami-sama_ himself is here, isn't he?" drawled Abuto sardonically. "Who do I pray to now?"

"You pray to me," Linter told him, "and you ask for forgiveness."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, ONE YEAR AGO :.<strong>

Abuto flipped the envelope open, in the discreet privacy of his quarters. The wax seal that he carefully pulled off – boldly imprinted with a familiar insignia – would have struck fear in the hearts of men across the universe.

Abuto never believed the Harusame to be an omnipotent force.

There were, after all, people who could overrule orders.

Like _kami-sama _himself.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Run," Mei croaked hoarsely, fingers scrabbling at Kamui's fists, which were wrapped tightly around her throat. "_Go_. There's—"

Mutsu didn't stir on the ground, but Zenshi saw her shoulders shuddered as she struggled to regain the wind knocked out of her chest. The pistol, emptied, trembled in her fingers. Mei continued to wriggle in Kamui's grip.

And then Kamui's crewmen appeared from the hall, clamoring and wielding Yato umbrellas like swords. All of which were fixed on Zenshi and Tsukuyo.

Kamui held out his arm; his figurative blade at Mei's heart.

Zenshi, who still had Tsukuyo beside him, was torn. If he took out the crewmen first, Kamui would kill Mei. If he went for Mei, there was a possibly that Kamui would be too fast for him, and that he would leave Tsukuyo at the mercy of several Yato pirates.

Not a single muscle would move. He could not even inch towards Mei if he tried. His hands, still clasped around Tsukuyo's forearms, stiffened with an emotion he could not place.

He asked himself who he was protecting.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"If I broke my leg, would you bring me food?"

Zenshi, in the hospital bed, smiles.

"Why wouldn't I?" he answers, fondly.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"I have never seen anyone so excited over politics," she snorts.

He glances up at her dubiously.

"I haven't either."

* * *

><p><strong>.: NINE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

"Hey, I don't know when I'll see you again, but when I do, don't just stand there, okay?"

She has this forlorn expression on her face, so unbearably uncharacteristic of her.

* * *

><p><strong>.: EIGHT YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He has never liked the confines of his desk.

He wonders where she would be.

But she is off somewhere, shearing off her hair and her sister's face and becoming herself, so much more than he ever has.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

She tells him he has nice hair several times before she gives up and bursts into laughter upon seeing him.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SIX YEARS AGO :.<strong>

There is an odd but amusing disconnect between her calling him lieutenant and the awkward salute she issues.

But it's fine with him.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FIVE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Asteroid belts are her favorite thing. She never tells them, though.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He wants for her to shut up, but never has the heart to tell her.

But it's fine with him.

Because then he doesn't have to think about all the things that float without direction outside this horrid ship.

* * *

><p><strong>.: THREE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He'll never tell her she snores.

But she's sprawled across his desk, fast asleep, and neither he nor Tabs has the heart to wake her.

* * *

><p><strong>.: TWO YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Sometimes, she mocks him.

But he mocks her, too.

* * *

><p><strong>.: ONE YEAR AGO :.<strong>

"That stupid _Danchou _of ours is running off again, isn't he?"

It's been five, six, seven years, and she still won't call him "sir" because it turns everything sour.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

A whisper in his ear once told him that he could protect more than one person at once. The voice beside him was strong enough to be heard over the others.

So he chose the one that was choked and crippled and faltering.

He let go of Tsukuyo.

He ran for Mei.

* * *

><p>#1 Reason why ZenTsu is hard to write: MEI.<p>

Oh Mei.

Mei you will break my heart.

Mei, Mei, Mei.

It doesn't help that in the manga "Gangsta" by Kohske, there's a guy named Marco who looks like Zenshi, and he's romantically involved with this girl named Constance and she looks just like Mei. OTL


	56. - Fifty-Six -

Oh boy, are you guys in luck! I HAVE PROCRASTINATED! Here you have it...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any **M**arude **DA**me na **O**ssan's, so obviously Gintama isn't mine.

But Zenshi, Mei, and half the crew you've met are.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Eyes of Wolves<strong>

_- 56 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: NINE YEARS AGO :.<strong>

As the Ocentisa school anthem floats lightly through the air — a final ballad of sorts — Zenshi spares a glance at his fellow Yato. There's the quiet, bespectacled boy, who is a secret sadist of sorts. There's the clique of umbrella-wielding girls that follow Rokudo everywhere. There's Rokudo himself, looking abstruse and expressionless, having abdicated his figurative thrown to next year's seniors. And a few people down, there's Mei.

She has never once in their years at this horrid yet lovely school smiled so widely.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Time was not a line. Time was a mesh of circles and curves and swoops and dives, none of which took him where he wanted to go. The first second was infinitely longer than the next; the third second was affably light, and the fourth was heavy on his shoulders. Years of apathy, stacked on his shoulders, struck him hard in the gut.

An expression never crossed his face.

He only ran, and ran, and ran, hand outstretched, reaching for Kamui.

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Kaientai Command Center- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"I sometimes forget you are a Yato." Abuto, conducive to finding his way out of this mess as soon as possible, adopted the most passive tone he could find. Somehow, sarcasm wheedled its way in, and he couldn't help but let a drop slip into his speech. The air was oppressive, confining. Abuto found it difficult to force words from his mouth without having them stuffed back in by the constricting atmosphere. "You haven't lost your touch, have you?"

"One can never be too lax in my world," Linter said. He'd relaxed his threatening stance on the Yato before him, but nevertheless had the entire room under his command. Not a one stirred. "Your orders have been overridden."

"Our orders? We're just cleaning up something silly. The real—"

"Well _my_ orders were along the lines of _perish with the Kaientai while the main ship aids the official military invasion and takeover_," Tabs interjected vehemently. "And yes, that was happening today, by the way. They were going to start up north in Des Koyasus."

Linter cast a glance at the men loyal to Kamui.

"Son, you didn't need to spill, but I'll thank you for the intel."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Kamui knew full well how fast Zenshi was moving. There was sullen resentment hanging in the air between them, and if it hadn't been evident enough before, it became clear as day when Zenshi crashed through that barrier and shattered all previously understood peace agreements determined on a level of pride. The younger, red-haired Yato had taken a good slice out of Mei, allowing Zenshi's body slam to misguide his hand.

There was blood, and whether it was Kamui's or Mei's or Zenshi's, no one could tell.

But from the corner of his eye, Zenshi analyzed the surroundings.

Sakamoto, dragging Mutsu by the arm and helping her to regain her breath.

Tsukuyo, slashing left and right until she was just a dizzying blur of black kimono and gold-spun hair.

Mei, whose thin frame crumpled in on itself as she sank to the floor, relatively unharmed in terms of Yato perspectives. The pool of blood that glittered out beneath her were nothing.

"You idiot," she mouthed, "I don't need no savings."

_You're dirt poor_, he wanted to reply. _Of course you need savings._

And then she said something else, but it was inaudible, and Kamui was before him. Suddenly, the world was horizontal and Zenshi must've suffered a heavy blow, because he saw stars inside the ship, floating aimlessly and without destination, in all directions except forward.

* * *

><p><strong>.: EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He knows what it's like to feel blood seep warmly into your hands and your sleeves and your collar. He knows what it's like to shiver and see little asteroids, trickling across his vision in little bubbles.

His right hand covers his right eye; thick, blood-strewn lashes, all a glob of viscous red and white, stroke his palm when he blinks.

Time is forever, even though he counts the seconds with each exhale and each heartbeat.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

He was one the floor for the longest time. Or so he thought. He felt a stream of liquid under his fingers, and he realized that, sprawled across the floor of what used to be a main lounge, Mei was pushing him away from her.

His consciousness gorged on this sight, thrown awry with the metallic scent of Yato blood so directly in his face. Kamui's boot crushed down on Mei's wrist, but Zenshi reached out and grabbed the younger Yato's ankle.

"Wow, I was pretty serious there. You still moving?" Kamui peered down at his former lieutenant. "How're the ribs? I bet you I broke at least four."

Snarling, Zenshi threw himself upwards, leading with his elbow so that he could drive it into Kamui's face. Mei, who had clutched her arm back to her side, sloshed in a pool of blood. Her florid face had paled. It was hard to believe how much was inside a single person's body until it was gone.

"Hey, Zen," she croaked, her face still crushed against the ground. "I'm not dirt poor now, so I don't need any savings."

Zenshi reached for his umbrella, but with a start, realized it wasn't there. Kamui clocked him in the jaw, the small interval of time permitting Zenshi to slightly avoid a direct blow.

"So," continued Mei, fingers wrapping around an object she'd been laying on, "go save that prostitute of yours, okay?"

Zenshi's growl was caught in his throat, his words left behind as the inception of an old persona resurfaced. He let the blue umbrella Mei offered fall into his palm, crimson slicked over the gold insignia that bore his father's family crest.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, FIVE MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

He noticed a little bauble that hung on the wind chime. The cat-woman stood guard by the door, wiping down the furniture whilst keeping an eye on him. The old lady had yet to return, and the robot maid came in from time to time to check his wounds.

The window was open. The wind gently brushed through the chimes, sending a summery ring across the small room.

It was sunny, too sunny to be comfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to be sad.

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Kaientai Command Center- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Young man, your name?" Linter promptly knocked out the men that had accompanied Abuto, none of which sported a silver ring. He found a good length of rope and strung them together securely.

"Like that'll be of any use," Abuto snorted.

"It'll give you the split second you need to get yourself out of here," Linter told him. "Yato or not."

Again, he asked for Tabs's name. Abuto was his primary contact, the two having met in one of the Harusame meetings many years back.

"It's Tabs, sir."

"Tabs?" _A peculiar name_, Linter thought.

"Uh, well, Zhuyi by birth, but everyone calls me Tabs."

"Tabs it is, then. Now, can you connect us to anything out here?"

A glance out the window told the story: the Kaientai had been downed slightly outside the city, in a grassy landscape that opened into miles and miles of desert. However, directly to their left, the north, the enormous city loomed behind lengths of fencing.

"Yes, sir, I sure can."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Zenshi acknowledged himself as strong. But he also acknowledged Kamui as strong, stronger. There was a difference between talent, effort, and talent plus effort. Kamui embraced his Yato bloodlines with such fluent grace that his every movement was beautiful and deadly all at once. He was not quite a butterfly, the butterfly with poisonous toxins on its wings. No, he was a dragon, hoarding its gold and baring its teeth.

The time Zenshi had overcome Kamui had been a moment of unguarded brevity. There was no way, amongst the blows and the collisions, faster than the regular eye could determine, that a winning strike could be dealt. Zenshi parried and struck, but Kamui also parried and struck. And Kamui hit harder.

There was headstrong eloquence in Kamui's movements. He was a strong, fine curve, from each individual strand of scarlet hair to the slightly feminine lips that identified him as a son and an older brother. Zenshi had size to his advantage, but it did him no good if he wasn't fast enough to use it. Kamui's fingers were knives, cutting straight through fabric and skin and gut. At some point during their exchanges, Zenshi wondered how his innards were not spilling out grotesquely yet. He was sure Kamui had stabbed him enough times to disembowel him completely. Perhaps he was imagining things.

The boy enjoyed the blood that beaded on his neck when Zenshi yawned back, drew his parasol, and shot a bullet that grazed Kamui.

The ship rumbled just as the two landed equal blows on one another. Zenshi introduced his fist to Kamui's nose and Kamui kicked away the older Yato with sharp, brutal force. Zenshi's abdomen screamed, more because all he felt was shrieking tears where Kamui had quite nearly cut him in two. He hit the floor, shoulder blades first, choking on the impact.

Kamui himself backed up against a wall, thrown into his own men, most of whom had either been taken out as collateral damage or successfully countered by Tsukuyo. The blonde courtesan was ducked in a corner, waiting for a chance to pop back out, but slightly relieved that her part had been done. For now, she would worry about the two Yato beating each other to death. The one had a familiar face — Kamui — and had no qualms about throwing Zenshi about.

"You sure are quiet, Zen," whispered Kamui, bracing himself on the wall and wiping his bloody chin. "Get up."

Zenshi's fingers clasped around his umbrella.

"_Danchou_," he mocked in a low voice, "you don't look so well."

"Get up," hissed Kamui.

Zenshi fired the gun, and the bullet pierced Kamui's thigh, but the other Yato didn't even flinch.

"You know those papers with perforated lines?" Kamui said, sauntering up despite the incorrigible stagger and limp. "You look like one of those. I just have to—" Kamui drew a line with his finger across Zenshi — "tear and fold you a little bit here. And then we'll have a top lieutenant and a bottom lieutenant."

"_Danchou_," repeated Zenshi. "Perhaps you need to visit the infirmary."

"I always knew I liked you better quiet."

Zenshi could not move, not even when Kamui stepped over him, a foot on either side of his body, crushing his arms under each and immobilizing him.

"You know how I like you best?" asked Kamui. It was as if he was describing how well done he liked his meats, how salty he liked his foods. People were objects. People were tools. But Zenshi had never been a tool, only a questionable if not compliant spy of sorts. Kamui never liked him. But they recognized each other's strengths and knew how to hide secrets as well as pasts.

Kamui's lifts his hand — the fatal blow. And he smiles, because though it is Zenshi, he upholds his pride and his integrity, sending off each and every sinner with an expression of appreciation.

Zenshi mouths _how_ just to humor his former commander.

"Silent."

* * *

><p>?!<p>

^ self-explanatory ^


	57. - Fifty-Seven -

Phewww are you guys lucky! I really should study for calculus, but noooo I came to the computer lab and wrote this.

Huehuehue.

For you ZenTsu shippers...

**Disclaimer: Danbooooooruuu ru ru ru ru. (translation: cardboard, by MADAO)**

^ you know the drill

* * *

><p><span><strong>Eyes of Wolves<strong>

_- 57 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Trust was something that Zenshi had not truly believed for a long time.

He "trusted" Mei and he "trusted" Tabs and he "trusted" Abuto.

He "trusted" Tsukuyo.

But who did he trust the least?

Paradoxically, that would be the man he trusted the most.

* * *

><p><strong>.: NINETEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

It rains forever, but despite the rain, it is the memory of his father and mother smiling that keep him alive.

So when there are wet footsteps at the door, he is a bundle of rare happiness that leaps into his father's arms.

He can't quite recall ever being angry at his father.

* * *

><p><strong>.: EIGHT YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He can't quite recall when he began to hate his father. Perhaps it was when the days grew shorter and his mother grew more and more forlorn, more dark and withdrawn.

"He's coming back," she says.

But when he does, Zenshi leaves.

He's broken hearts, just like his father has.

Perhaps that's why he resents his father. It's not just because they've been abandoned. It's because he's the same.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, FOUR MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

It was a strange thing to see Kagura at the post office. She had a letter with no address, only a name. And the people of intergalactic mail made it their duty to find Umibouzu, whatever obscure planet he was monster hunting on.

Kagura, Zenshi discovered, had long since renounced her resentment.

Or rather, she had learned that it wasn't resentment, only loneliness. And the void, for the young Yato girl, had been filled. The existence of more people in her hearts had taught her the meaninglessness of her bitterness.

But he was still empty.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Tsukuyo had only the time to comprehend a flash of light and four rather mismatched characters entering the room. The first she saw was an unfamiliar young man with a thin jaw and a partially crooked nose. He wore studded earrings and carried an umbrella at his waist. He was thin and lanky but strong — the first thing he did was rush to Mei and scoop her in his arms.

The second was a familiar face, one she'd seen up close in Yoshiwara. Abuto of the Harusame, looking harried but aggressive.

The third, with an expression of half dismay and half relief on his face, was the kind Jenhao. He still wore Sciuttlan civilian apparel, somewhat floral in his pastels.

And the fourth, unruffled and at ease in any situation, Zenshi's father.

His parasol at Kamui's head.

"By order of the Andromeda-Centaurus Allegiance, the Harusame is to cede all holdings in Sciuttla and disengage military combat efforts in alliance with Namawala Ezempi, leader of the military takeover."

Time was forever, and each breathing man or woman in the room felt crystals grow in their lungs, waiting for Kamui's answer.

"Politicians," Kamui said, "are great liars."

* * *

><p><strong>.: -East Tomokaz, Sciuttla- 30 Minutes AGO - :.<strong>

Uhuru Ominira was a woman determined to free her nation from the restraints of evil totalitarians. She was, and had been, the woman posted silently at the back of the meeting room turned commands station, watching the Yato and the guests debate.

When the young man with the black hair was gone, she approached the young human who had followed him out briefly.

"I can tell in your eyes," she said, "that you're not going to let him just _go_."

The human woman regarded Uhuru with suspicious but beautiful lavender eyes.

"But you are thinking of an excuse to go, are you not?"

Uhuru drew the young lady aside, momentarily blocking out Linter's aggravated debate with the soft-voiced Jenhao, two men she had become acquainted with well in the past months. They were crucial to the survival of this country, this planet. But she also deemed this young woman with golden hair to be just as important.

"I know," Uhuru said, nodding, "that when a woman like you wishes to protect something, she does so with all her heart."

A nod. Pleased with the response, the Sciuttlan woman grasped the Earthling by the arms gently, encompassing the younger with warmth.

"So protect away. Take the brown cotton ball human with you."

She gestured at the absentminded man with the sunglasses.

Tsukuyo didn't understand the rest of the woman's speech, for it was foreign and fancifully ornamented with non-Earthling phrases, but she knew its essence.

She would go.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Admiral Kamui, do you understand exactly how long it takes for legislation to pass within the Yato government?"

"Government?" Kamui laughed.

"Yes, it indeed exists." Linter now had both a gun and a knife at Kamui's head and neck, respectively. "A bill introduced can expect a waiting time of years and years."

Over to the side, Tabs hauled Mei to her feet and wrapped his cloak around her midsection, hoping to stem the blood flow.

"Now," Linter continued, "do you understand what it means for _this_ to pass through the AC Allegiance in only two years?"

"The Harusame—"

"It means that the galaxy is in grave danger. It means that congressmen and women have worked at light speed to pass an act that may very well save this end of the universe. Now, Admiral Kamui, riddle me this: Do you wish to upset the entirety of the Andromeda-Centaurus Congress?"

Kamui backed away from Zenshi, who barely clung to consciousness on the floor.

Politicians, he decided, were never to be trusted. Not the intergalactic kind, at least.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Droplets of rain cling to his jacket and his umbrella, but he shakes off the water and kneels to embrace his child because he is always, always there.

And when he leaves, he is never, ever there.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Abuto," Kamui said, deliberately slow. "How's...the weather over there?"

"Gloomy," responded the vice-captain. His fingers itched, as if he could feel the wax seal peeling away from the fated envelope he'd received ages ago. He remembered clearly the seal because it matched the one on Zenshi's umbrella hilt, and mirrored the one Linter wore on his ring. "Ninety percent chance of hail."

"Sir," Tabs whispered. "The rebel forces have responded and they're on the move."

Linter nodded. He lowered his weapons and took Kamui by the shoulder. The Yato boy was compliant, but far from docile. He wrenched himself away from the politician with savage ease, looking ferocious but willing to negotiate. Kamui was a lover of fights, but he was not stupid.

"The city of Des Koyasus has been half overtaken by the military government," Tabs continued. He was reading off of a mobile tablet, reeling across pages and pages of information that fed in from just about everywhere. News tabloids, on-site reporters, the rebel forces. He'd even hacked the military's radio line, an insurmountable feat. Tabs was not manager of the technicians without a reason.

"Hey, beanstalk, what's that?" Kamui asked, voice low.

"U-uh, it's a newsreel, sir." Tabs went straight as a board, clutching the tablet to his chest. He stammered a good few blurbs or so before Abuto saved him.

"I gave him permission to aid our politician friend here," sighed the vice-captain. "To save us the intergalactic trouble and make up for some of these...inconveniences."

Kamui's movements were dangerously slow, deliberate, thoughtful.

After some consideration, he nodded. "All right," he said, agreeing, "that doesn't seem too much of a problem."

Mei, who had been propped up against a wall beside Tabs, grabbed his trouser leg.

"You stupid Yato," she hissed weakly, "we're bleeding to death here."

At this point, Tsukuyo had discreetly crossed the room, and was holding Zenshi's head in her lap. Her face was pallid, all color drained, even from her lips. Eyes dark with terror and anxiety, knuckles fisted so hard they were white, she was still. She was so, so still, watching for the shallow rise and fall of Zenshi's chest, any indication that he was hanging on. She ran her fingers over his face lightly. He was warm.

"That's a scratch," Abuto replied jauntily. "You didn't lose an arm, did ya? Hey bud, you haven't lost any arms, right?"

"Gettin' close to losin' his whole lower half, sure," Tsukuyo answered vehemently, shaken momentarily from her shock.

"And what happened to Mutsu? She dead?" Kamui called. "Oh _Mucchi_!"

"I'm right here, you horse-face." Mutsu, having recovered from her heavy blow, sat up beside Sakamoto. "I'll mutilate your face, Kamui."

"She'll mutilate your face," parroted Sakamoto, nodding sagely. He was lucky Mutsu didn't spin around and sock him in the face. Instead, she rose to her feet and made her way over to Tsukuyo and Zenshi.

"Any medics?" Tsukuyo asked. She was bizarrely disoriented, feeling very little yet very much. Inside, a tornado of emotions was ripping all of her thoughts to shreds – she could only worry fifty times over about the torn-up Yato in front of her. But her body was frozen, immobile. She wanted to yell at someone to help her haul Zenshi to a medic, a nurse, a healer, anybody, but no one could hear her inaudible pleas.

Mutsu came to her aide.

"He's already healing, but he's lost a lot of blood." She surveyed the damage, slightly relieved that Kamui had stopped short of that final blow. "I doubt he'll be conscious for a while, even with a Yato's healing abilities."

Despite that, neither left the battle unwounded. Kamui, caught up in the battle, had not realized exactly how long they'd been fighting. He hardly noticed the splotches of blood on his side and legs, disregarding the way his silk clothing clung to his skin in dried, dark red patches.

Linter, for a split second, looked torn between reaching his son and keeping the Harusame under his control. The indecision vanished straightaway from his face.

"Rebels in Des Koyasus have scouted the forerunners of the army brigade," Tabs announced.

"Let's get ourselves organized, and then we'll deal with Sciuttlans," Linter instructed. He ran a hand through his dark hair and glanced at his son, tended carefully by his niece and the human girl. As he directed Kamui off the ship to the little space speed cruiser they'd arrived on, he noticed his son briefly regain consciousness and reach for the girl's hand.

And then the broken doors slid shut.

* * *

><p><strong>.: EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

Unbeknownst to himself, he wants to look like his father. But many days, he hardly remembers his father's face ; he is only told that he resembles the man who is never home.

Now, however, he can't see a thing.

There are thin, prickly stitches that trace his right eye, and he cannot imagine his esteemed father looking anything like this.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

He bordered on consciousness, skating on a rim before losing balance and lunging back into the depths of unawareness. At some point, the hard ground beneath him became soft and bedlike, perhaps somewhere more safe. The last thing he truly recalled was his father, a silhouette that materialized behind Kamui. And then maybe Tsukuyo, but he couldn't quite tell.

Nonetheless, it was comfortable where he was, feeling empty and without a name. There were no lights to blind him, to walls to confine him. But there was the feeling of warmth on face, and his eyes fluttered open just long enough to see who had leaned over him, lips gingerly placed on his.

He fell back asleep, a shimmering trail of gold and lavender branded fiercely into the blackness.

* * *

><p>Because<p>

1) we all know only Gin can defeat everyone

and

2) tsukkiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

and

3) gosh darn you and your political power, Linter... HOW?!


	58. - Fifty-Eight -

On a roll, on a roll!

**Fun facts:**

**Ch. 57: **What do you mean I'm just throwing in galaxy names because it sounds all cool and official? ((you know you like it huehuehue))

**Ch. 57: **I included that congress passing legislation like light speed thing because in history we're going over WWII, and the U.S. Congress got together and almost unanimously declared war at a pace that was like light speed for Congress, hehehe.

**Ch. 57: **If you've forgotten Uhuru, shame on you (just kidding). But her name, Uhuru Ominira, literally means "freedom freedom". _Uhuru_ is Swahili for freedom, and _Ominira _is Yoruba for freedom.

**Ch. 57: **Along those lines, the dictator Namawala Ezempi has a name that broadly translates to "impulsive military" or something like that in Zulu. (sorry, I'm just having fun with languages)

**Disclaimer: **Just as I would not have predicted Levi to be an Ackerman, I do not own Gintama.

(AHA! Spoilers! Sorry buds. Even I don't know the details yet...)

* * *

><p><span><strong>Eyes of Wolves<strong>

_- 58 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

He was empty, so empty, so devoid of thought and feeling and awareness that when consciousness trickled into his mind, it was hot and cold and everything in between. His entire body was numb, save his left arm, which bore a peculiar weight.

A head of straw-gold hair leaning on him, tresses wispy and light and tied lopsidedly in the back. He relaxed his arm, choosing her presence over feeling.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MARCH, SEVEN MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

He places a hand on the glass pane – it vibrates with such fervent intensity that he's tempted to believe that the ship itself can sense the tension within the crew. Tabs has called him multiple times to the bridge today, and if the intercom chimes one more time, Zenshi is tempted to simply hide and ignore everyone rather than take his anger out on poor Tabs.

Incidentally, this is exactly one deck above the spot where he fell as Abuto turned off the gravity core.

But nobody else knows that.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

It was the smell of sweet red bean pancakes that roused him from his sleep. Tsukuyo hadn't left her post long; the spot on the hotel mattress beside him was still warm. Zenshi hadn't a clue where he was or how he got there (but assumed it was the hotel they'd arrived at before, where the rebels were stationed) or what time it was.

Allowing his eyes to adjust to the light, the Yato shrewdly surveyed the room. Clean and immaculate, as hotel rooms were, but laced with the scent of someone who had occupied this room for a good amount of time. Clothes were folded and laid atop the dresser, his clothes, though poorly mended, bloody, and mostly torn. Additionally, he spotted Sciuttlan civilian attire, rather considerately set aside for him as well. Though the colors made him grimace, Zenshi pulled on the spring green sweater and champagne slacks. Whoever had set out this outfit was considerate enough not to giver him bright fuchsia pants.

He peered into the room's bathroom and noticed few belongings. Finding this strange, Zenshi quietly analyzed the room. The personal scent was familiar and the room itself was relatively cheery. A spare Yato umbrella hung in the corner, a dull gray one. Zenshi decided that this must've been Jenhao's room and not his father's or anyone else's. With this, the dark-haired Yato ducked out the door and down the hall.

The azuki pancakes led him straight to a staff kitchen via swinging door. Said door burst out in his direction, and it took all his effort not to get smacked in the face.

Tsukuyo staggered to a halt, plate of pancakes and glass of orange juice in either hand. The first thing that came to mind wasn't an apology, but a scolding.

"Ya shouldn't be up!" she snapped, frowning immediately. Zenshi, glancing from orange juice to pancakes to her face, didn't react. He had conveniently chosen to ignore the numerous bandages and patches that had been wrapped thickly around his midsection when he put on the sweater, and did not intend to recall them now.

The kitchen door was swinging freely back and forth, one of those loosely hinged things that never ceased flapping.

Intermittently, he caught glimpses of the people inside.

"Go back to bed," Tsukuyo ordered adamantly.

Zenshi, feeling characteristically tight-lipped, fondly touched Tsukuyo's cheek with the back of his hand, and then pushed past her. Taken aback, she spluttered a few times before following him back into the kitchen, where several Yato and Sciuttlan rebel leaders were congregated at a homely table.

"An attempt was made," Tsukuyo said wearily, allowing her troublesome Yato companion to join the others. She slid the meal in front of him. Zenshi thanked her with a brief no, fingers brushing lightly over hers as she passed the glass of juice.

Across from him, Linter, Jenhao, and Abuto. Kamui was nowhere to be seen, and Zenshi didn't ask. To his direct left, Tabs, and to Tsukuyo's right, Uhuru, the Sciuttlan rebel leader. It seemed as if an eon of time shuffled by before anyone uttered a word. Zenshi was uncomfortable, but that never crippled him, the silent creature he was.

"The military has resigned for the third night," Uhuru announced, "as they have not made any significant gains today. Though West Tomokaz has fallen into their hands, we have bright expectations for Des Koyasus."

"How long have I been out?" Zenshi whispered.

"A bit more than two days," Tsukuyo replied.

Zenshi rolled one stiff shoulder back, and then the other.

"They have a long way before they reach East Tomokaz," Linter added, "and the plan is to stop them in their tracks. Our numbers have grown great enough and our tender alliances will suffice. We have the North Star's financial backing, thanks to their eccentric but kind prince, and all the local planets except one has aligned with AC guidelines."

"I must say," Abuto interjected, "I'm rather impressed. Even the Harusame wasn't aware of such a large rebel force."

"But is it enough to stand against Namawala Ezempi?" Zenshi interrupted. "He may lack depth to his plans, but he has an extensive lateral network extending outside the Andromeda-Centaurus Allegiance. He's a brutal dictator."

"You seem to forget who your father is," Linter said, amused. "If he has an extensive network, then what do I have?"

Zenshi glowered, and his father wisely refrained from continuing.

"Nonetheless," continued the son, "are there _enough_ forces here?"

"Probably," Tabs piped up, "because the Harusame is out of the picture."

"Are we?" Mei asked. "Are you?" she corrected, glancing at Abuto.

"Who discharged you, Lieutenant?" snorted Abuto. "Soon as this is over, it's back to the ship."

"I thought—"

"There is a certain hierarchy to things, as I'm sure you've learned," Abuto told her. "We've lost enough men. And where would you go?"

It was true. Mei had chosen the Harusame so that she wouldn't have to go home, and Tabs was working for his family. Both had found their own niche on the vast ship, finding solace in the thin, creaky mattresses and constant darkness.

"Well, we'd go wherever!" Tabs exclaimed adamantly. "Jenhao has—"

"Don't use me as an example," warned the older man. "I have no home, either. This is temporary because I'm helping the resistance. Uhuru has been far too kind and hospitable to me."

"A child of peace is welcome anytime," Uhuru murmured.

Mei and Tabs exchanged glances and went silent. Linter readdressed the issue of combat and forces, and it was decided that the stationary rebel troops in East Tomokaz would send out a battalion to aid the northern cities.

That is, they would have.

If the government didn't blast straight through the air traffic suspension and take East Tomokaz by storm.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

The blood on his hands is intoxicating, and he wonders how the anything could ooze so slowly and lethargically through his fingers. He is careful when he picks up his umbrella, making sure nothing ever stains the golden end of the handle.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

People were flying. If Zenshi thought that Tabs was still the clumsy, lanky teenage boy he'd met seven years ago, then he was terribly wrong. In fact, Tabs, who was only a few inches shorter than his former lieutenant, looked strong and quick and agile. His fingers deftly entered a code into the nearest keypad, drawing security camera feeds up onto the large projector.

Uhuru had ushered refugees into safe houses, secured defense areas. Linter, Jenhao, and Abuto donned headpieces and began radioing in to multiple places. At some point, Zenshi picked up on Abuto calling for Kamui, but did not stop to listen in.

The cameras picked up military troops, dressed in staunch gray uniforms, trudging in. They front lines were clearly all Sciuttlan foot soldiers, their colored hair shaved to a close crop and their skin of various hues looking ashen and monotone. They wielded a variety of weapons, most of them armed to the teeth with machine guns. A few rows back, a line of recruits had high-power lasers strapped to their backs, disguised in designs discreetly similar to the regular firearms.

"They're moving fast," Mei noted.

"Just to be clear," Tsukuyo said, "are ya on our side in this one?"

The two women exchanged glances — the sharp Yato with her feline eyes, and the blonde courtesan with her quiet lavender ones.

"It appears that way." Mei took a moment to study the human woman, and then trotted over to Abuto when her name was called.

"Lieutenant, I need you to get your crew together."

"We're double-crossing them?"

"We were never really on their side," Abuto replied. "Get going, tweets. All right Tabs, I need you updating on the double."

"Yes, sir," chimed Tabs, reporting to both Abuto and Linter.

"Send the reconnaissance to the front lines," Linter instructed, hand on Jenhao's shoulder. The Yato complied, sending out orders with practiced efficiency.

"You know what would make this faster?" Tabs whispered to Mei.

"Sending our stupid _Danchou_ out there?"

"Yep."

"Out of the question," Linter interjected between the two. "Your admiral is going nowhere as of yet."

"He's the _admiral_," Mei protested. "Where _is_ he, anyway?"

But Linter had frozen in the middle of speech. First, they had had the pleasure of basking frantically in a surprise attack.

Now this.

"Oh," Mei whispered, withdrawing her next comment. "Found him."

Right up on the centermost camera, which projected a view of the largest street intersection in East Tomokaz, was Admiral Kamui himself.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FOUR YEARS AGO :.<strong>

He is staring at the egret on her auburn _cheongsam_ because it's all he can focus on without his vision spinning, but when he hears _it_ in her voice, he can't help but wrench his gaze to meet hers.

"Want something to eat? I can run down to the galley."

Why won't she step inside?

"No, I'd rather come with."

Maybe his gaze is intimidating. Maybe his tone is too harsh.

"All right."

Her movements are jerky; she steps aside for him to exit. She exudes fear from each stiff step, each curt reply. Zenshi is never one to blatantly point out the things he notices, obvious or not, but the fumes of the blood are still clogging his mind, and he can't help but blurt it out.

"You're afraid."

For a split second, Mei looks half hurt by this comment and half wary.

"I'm worried," she justifies. And when they lapse into an awkward silence, she tries to make a comment about food. But he can only sigh to himself because though there are some people he believes would be better off fearing him, there are some people he wants to keep.

Especially someone he's known for a long, long time.

* * *

><p>See the flashback! Feel the flashback! TASTE THE FLASHBACK!<p>

I will give you ZenMei until it hurts.

And that will make ZenTsu beautiful.

Though...Mei... /crai


	59. - Fifty-Nine -

Ahh I don't know...

**Ch. 56: **The city, Des Koyasus, like East and West Tomokaz, is a name play off of Takasugi Shinsuke's voice actor, Koyasu Takehito. (laughs)

**Disclaimer: Sorachi.**

**OFFICIALLY NEARING THE END!**

**This is a cause for both despair and celebration!**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Eyes of Wolves<strong>

_- 59 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

The strange thing was, the three Hyakka women picked up on it before Tsukuyo did. In fact, they were strapped with spears and guns — little souvenirs from the rebel forces in case of emergency — by the front desk of the hotel-turned-base. The one who looked like Hotaru but might have been Chiyako broke into a grin.

"We can't have you leavin' our boss behind," she chirped, hands on her hips. "But we ain't gonna blow up a big plan, either. We'll cover for you up until that next block. But if she drags you back…"

Zenshi threw them a rare, wan smile, and pulled the cloak over his head. His abdomen throbbed and his ribs ached with each breath, but he'd downed a few small painkillers to last him for a while.

Mutsu, who had caught him the moment he left the room, had handed him a gun wordlessly. He brushed the barrel of the weapon, wedged in his belt, thinking absently of how she must feel. Her uncle, bent on a cruelly motivated type of revenge. Her cousin, stubborn because he had no real reason to be here (or did he?). Her crew, caught up in the middle of a vicious warzone, something akin to the continuation of a supposedly quieted civil war. Herself, mourning her mother yet receiving no answer.

She had once expressed a want to see her aunt, Zenshi's mother. Just to say hello.

But here she was, taking care of a curly-haired human man who couldn't seem to get his senses untangled but walked straighter than anyone.

"You'd better not die," she told him. "This isn't your show this time, so at least follow the script."

But he'd asked, very quietly, very solemnly:

"What script?"

And then he disappeared.

* * *

><p><strong>.: APRIL, FIVE MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

Had he been close to the man he'd just killed?

Was it just Kamui's lust for blood infecting him, spreading across his skin and his lungs and making him see nothing but an array of red?

There was no delineated boundary between himself and the Yato within. But he could imagine, couldn't he?

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Nice of you to join me."

"Nice of you to invite me."

"I want my crew out of this mess just as much as you do, yes?"

"I suppose."

"You know, I'm a little tired of explaining."

"I'm sure you're not."

"I'd like to see you try and take my place. You'd want to get out of here, too."

"I would."

"So the sooner this is over, the sooner we leave. We'll be out of your hair."

"How exciting."

"And I assume you came here for the same reason?"

Kamui's face was an inseparable mixture of malice and sadism and pure amusement. He exchanged glances with the older Yato, trading coveted secrets without a word. But then Zenshi answered.

"Depends on the reason," he told the redhead.

"Of course." Kamui smiled, an expression dripping with predatory hunger.

"Don't get rid of Mei and Tabs," warned Zenshi. Kamui pretended not to hear.

"You don't suppose," he asked slowly, "that Sciuttlans bleed noxious fumes?"

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Rebel Headquarters- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"Is it possible to travel to that point downtown in less than fifteen minutes?" asked Mei, pointing to the center screen from which Kamui had recently disappeared.

"Yes, of course," Uhuru answered, pointing out a route on a different screen as Tabs flashed up a map. "Why do you ask? Do you plan on going? The army forces have nearly reached this spot."

"They're doing a wide maneuver to locate us," Jenhao informed the room's occupants. "But they will hit the center square hard."

"How far are they?" asked Linter.

"Twenty percent engaged, starting at the air terminals, where they landed."

"Let's send out another—" Linter nearly bit his tongue, but deftly cut himself short. "Jenhao, forget what I just said."

"Sir?"

Kamui was up on the screen again, peering directly into the camera. He said something, but the camera wouldn't pick up a feed until Tabs turned it on. Even then, the voice was tinny and distant, almost inaudible.

"Dumb _Danchou_," hissed Mei, "come closer."

"Maybe he's afraid lasers will shoot out from the camera," joked Tabs.

"Both of you, hush up," Jenhao scolded.

But Kamui sidled closer to the camera, glancing from its lens to the street and back again. He gestured with his arms spread wide open, miming a hug. While this seemed to puzzle most of the spectators, his crewmen seemed to pick up the gist.

"He's doing reconnaissance," Abuto said. "They're doing the large sweep, like Tabs said."

Kamui glanced away. Now he was nodding and speaking towards an unseen figure, out of range of the camera.

"Is your crew out there?" Linter folded his arms, studying Kamui's body language. "He seems to be planning with someone."

Right then, Mei and Tabs exchanged glances. Mei casually slid into a position next to Tsukuyo and touched her arm briefly. Tabs scooped up the digital tablet and sidled over to Linter, awaiting the man's reaction.

"What're ya—"

Tsukuyo was cut short as Tabs adjusted the camera view.

Standing beside Kamui, wearing khaki trousers and a ridiculously green sweater, was someone who'd been right in their room fifteen or so minutes ago.

Zenshi.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

"I'd say five minutes until they get here." Kamui, now sitting cross-legged and staring at the rebels' installed camera, could only guess as well as Zenshi could, both of them without anything except their five senses to tell them where and when the enemy might emerge.

"I hear you're traveling with an Anti-Foreigner faction group."

"I owe him one."

"That's strange, coming from you."

"The samurai are interesting." Kamui closed the topic with the dark smile he gave the camera. It didn't go unnoticed by Zenshi.

Neither really knew what they'd do when the army came.

But nonetheless, they waited.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, FOUR MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

He would be lying if he said he did not enjoy her presence on those quietly stirring nights, the murmur of Yoshiwara beneath them. But he only wished the light was not from below, because it left what he could see of her in the darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Rebel Headquarters- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Kamui probably splattered blood on the camera just to frustrate them. Though Tabs was able to find a different angle, the new perspective offered little more than grimaces and hair-pulling.

"Ahaha, look at that," Sakamoto murmured. "Good thing we're not out there. The weather's terrible."

Mutsu gave him a good slap, but it made no difference to the man. On the other hand, Mei, who had grabbed Tsukuyo's arm as a precaution, was glad she did so, because the blonde courtesan very nearly exploded at the sight of Zenshi on the screen. Tabs, standing behind Linter, was glad that his former leader's father was professional enough and skilled enough to keep his composure. The amount of anxiety that leaked through his façade, however, was worrying.

"You know," Mei said, "I thought _I_ could swear. But you, you're…"

She released Tsukuyo's arm.

"If he doesn't die out there, I'll kill'im," hissed Tsukuyo.

"Wise choice," Mei replied sardonically. Neither of them looked at the screen now. All it consisted of was Kamui bouncing from sidewalk to sidewalk, lopping off body parts with his classic smile. On the other hand, Zenshi was plowing through the center of the brigade, letting the sides dwindle by Kamui's hand. A closer look revealed that he struggled with every swing and every blow, but was steeled and tactful. Zenshi utilized his parasol to its fullest extent, guarding his still torn body. Though Yato healing engendered quick recovery, those were not wounds he could close up within three days. Mei, present at the hotel, knew full well that his broken ribs and open wounds had not mended completely. She was still feeling ripped up; she couldn't imagine what Zenshi felt.

"He's dumb as a rock," decided Tsukuyo. "Doesn't say a thing, and dumb as a rock."

"That's a great way to put it," Mei commented flatly. She was having a hard time deciding whether she liked this woman or not. Tsukuyo was haphazardly devoted, loyal to a fault. In fact, she was stubborn and willful and too similar to Mei for either of them to be truly comfortable. Mei, who was brash and headstrong, butted heads with the Earthling. But she was more blunt than anything else, while Tsukuyo maintained an imperious aloofness that the Yato girl couldn't quite achieve.

At the moment, however, Tsukuyo was reeling out frustrated comments in a fashion that Mei typically would have approved of, if they had been about anything else.

"Sciuttlans don't emit poison gas blood, do they?" Tabs asked out of the blue. Most people turned to stare at him. He shrunk back a little, despite his gallant efforts at the computer.

"We have a defense mechanism somewhat derived from other races," Uhuru told him calmly. "It does have a hallucinogenic effect. Why?"

All the Harusame Yato groaned in unison. Tabs laughed nervously, Jenhao rubbed his forehead, and Mei looked as if she had an itch she couldn't reach.

"Let's just say," Abuto pronounced slowly, "that this central brigade will be gone sooner than you expect it to be."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

The more he fought, the faster he could move. His body limbered up and the pain subsided to a dull, sniffling throb. And the more he fought, the more it seemed like a competition between himself and Kamui. The idea of killing people — grotesque and immoral and disconcerting — became a blur.

Everything was a blur.

Everything was a trigger. The faster Kamui ran, the faster he ran.

Relentless.

* * *

><p><strong>.: MAY, FOUR MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

He asked her who taught her to fight. She was reluctant, but he wheedled the story out of her gently. In a moment of impulsive generosity, she told him the little details, everything from the time she was thrown into a dark room for misbehaving, the time Hinowa made her pretty little onigiri. And how, after that, she had tried to return the favor for the sun of Yoshiwara, and has ever since been the balanced counterpart. She told him the story of a spider's web, of a master. Zenshi could tell that in her voice, she held a sort of love for that master, forlorn and distant.

Perhaps he would ask again, some other time, and then she might tell him of the holocaust that nearly took down Yoshiwara in flames, of the friends she had made and the people she had met, of the pinkie promises and the goodbyes, of sakura petals floating gently down on two lovers who would never be separated again.

Perhaps.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

He was jolted back to his senses as soon as he reached the end of the first wave, the only impediment a cement monument erected in the middle of East Tomokaz. He whirled around and could hardly take in the destruction he'd left in his wake. Littered bodies like an endless sea of meaningless deaths.

He didn't have time to think.

Kamui grabbed him by the throat.

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Rebel Headquarters- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

There was no stopping them once they began to run. If Jenhao hadn't moved first, Tsukuyo wouldn't have gone. If Tsukuyo hadn't followed, Jenhao probably wouldn't have kept running. But as the human and the Yato brushed past the three helpless Hyakka waiting outside and standing guard, there was nothing to do but keep going and wait for others to join them.

"You can't get there in under fifteen minutes," protested Abuto. "That knucklehead took one of the cars."

But neither took heed of his words. In fact, poor Abuto had spurred both Tabs and Mei to leap into action behind Tsukuyo and Jenhao.

The room was left deleteriously silent.

"I can tell you are debating whether or not to go," Uhuru said quietly to Linter. Papers were gripped tightly in one hand, while her other clutched a pendant at her neck. "I shall send more troops. You needn't sully your hands."

Linter chuckled. "I am a diplomat before I am a father, but I am a father before I am a Yato. Which makes no sense at all, because the last two both tell me I should follow them."

"You would not be unwise to stay or go."

"No, I would not be unwise. I'd be downright stupid."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

Zenshi's elbow was in prime position to take out Kamui's nose, but the salmon-haired boy was quick enough to read those intentions.

"So did we come here for the same reason, or didn't we?" asked the younger Yato, crouching and studying the Amanto blood beneath his nails. It certainly didn't belong to Zenshi, seeing as splinters of dried blood were caking off of Kamui's hands in black shards. It was clearly foreign, and the wet hiss the dried blood emitted as Kamui scraped it from his knuckles riled both of them.

Zenshi was impassive. Kamui had come for three reasons: the first was to finish this convoluted business, the second was to have an excuse for a mighty killing spree, and the third was to finish off Zenshi with a vengeful finality.

"No." Zenshi was here to end this conflict, to help this rebels. He had little personal gain save the fact that he, too, could get out of the mess the sooner the entire issue was resolved.

"Say hello to my mother for me," Kamui called, lunging for Zenshi's neck again.

"Say hello to my _foot_, Admiral Nincompoop!"

Mei came hurtling from the sky, her heel nearly colliding with Kamui's face. Another missed chance at forever rearranging Kamui's nose.

Zenshi shot her a look that screamed, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Don't ask me." Mei shrugged. "Ask them."

As a smaller army squad rounded the corner, Jenhao, Tabs, and Tsukuyo quite unexpectedly burst from hidden alleys and leapt into the fray. Zenshi, simply by glancing over their fighting stances, suddenly realized exactly why each of them were there.

Mei, for Zenshi and for her brash commander.

Tabs, for Mei and Zenshi.

Jenhao, for the late Ensign Delong.

Tsukuyo, for Zenshi.

And they all truly just wanted to go home, even if home meant floating to nowhere in the middle of space, even if home meant chasing down looters in Yoshiwara, even if home meant never really finding a place to be, so long as the people they cherished were there.

Suddenly, Zenshi recalled an old, baby blue umbrella he had as a small child. The last time he recalled it, it was seven years ago, when his mother was in the middle of mending and decorating it. Inexplicably, the little umbrella, as cheerful as the sky, tugged relentlessly on him.

Zenshi, too, wanted to go home,

But this time, he would show someone that little blue umbrella.

He would show Tsukuyo.

* * *

><p>author's warning: I am a sucker for cheesy romance. Watch out.<p>

It's cheesy. It's coming. It's...

fondue.

**NOTE: Chapter 60 _will be the last chapter._**

**and it will be a long one.**

**Get ready.**

**This is all or nothing.**

**We're going home.**


	60. - Sixty -

**This is it.**

Chapter 60: -Eyes of Wolves- THE FINAL CHAPTER.

**Author's Notes:** I'd like to thank all of you for reading this far and sticking with this story, especially since it's been such a long road. I'd also like to thank you for your appreciation of this story because even though it's about an OC, the fact that you enjoy reading about Zenshi is more than I could ever ask for!

**Reading Note:** Now, there's a reason this took a long time to post. Chapter 60 could have been broken up into about 10 chapters. Yep. 10 chapters. Each chapter was approximately 4 Microsoft Word pages. This is nearly 40. So unless you want to bookmark your spot, make sure you have **a lot of time on your hands **if you're going to tackle chapter 60 in one go! It'll be a ride from beginning to end! (and I make long author's notes soooo... haha)

**Author's Notes...again:** Upon further inspection - and besides the fact that this is my first lengthy, multi-chapter story ever finished - I realize that my writing is just a long, long roller coaster ride. There is somewhat of a climax (I hope you feel like there is action and plot) but there is never really a peak point. And I think that's because this story isn't "over," so to speak. Zenshi will live on in the Gintama world...and who knows what else might happen?

**Random notes:** There shall be references to the future...I hope you enjoy.

**FUN FACTS:** due to the fact that this is the last chapter and you won't be able to see the fun facts of this chapter in the next, THEY SHALL ALL BE HERE -

_**all fun facts from chapter 60:**_

_Chicago's Hancock building is referenced somewhere in Sciuttla...can you find it? (It's pretty obvious if you know the Hancock building, haha)_

_Jinlin pulls a Katsura...she has been on standby. Reference is further on._

_Mei pulls a Zenshi. She quotes him somewhere. (It's also a saying Linter uses)_

_Sakamoto, at some point, has a stuffy nose. His exchange with Mutsu is one I often have with my Dad. Ahaha._

_And a series of _KHR References_ due to my recent KHR relapse, including: _

_...A Rokudo Mukuro quote about the mist..._

_...Two prominent mafia families (if you know KHR, these will be so obvious you'll cry dying will flames)..._

_...Best mechanics because I am fond of Spanner..._

_...Pride definition (influenced by Vongola vs. Shimon battles)..._

_...and last but not least: Ice Tuna Pineapple. Yeah, I don't know what that is, either. But hey. (I'm not a 6927 fan, by the way...)_

Thank you all again! I hope you enjoy...

Without any further ado...

* * *

><p><strong>Eyes of Wolves<strong>

_- 60 -_

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>A thousand and one things crossed his mind, but never once did he forget that goal.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ONE MONTH LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"It's a little late," says Jenhao, "but I think it will do."<p>

He and Jinlin, who is the calmest woman on the Yato planet, blink the tears away quickly. They kneel before a small plot of land, a little bit of incense burning. Standing behind them, a very quiet Yato woman and her daughter of about three or four cling quietly to the scene. No one says they are sorry for the loss because they do not have to. They just help the family cry.

"Do you think he would have approved of this?" Mei whispers. "He was always a pretty stiff guy."

"The ensign was kindhearted if you knew where to look for it," Zenshi murmurs. "He watched out for you all."

Zenshi walks up to Ensign Delong's widow and touches her elbow. The woman simply nods, tears spilling down her cheeks. When the young man kneels to lay a hand on the daughter's shoulder, the widow cannot help but choke back a sob.

He cannot do anything, but he can let them mourn.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>There was no surprise when more and more people he knew joined him. By the time they reached the edge of the city, the space terminals where the military's main forces began to balk, Mutsu was on his left and Sakamoto just beyond, looking like a veteran of war with the way he slashed so easily.<p>

At some point, Jenhao crumpled beneath the marauding gunfire. Someone scooped him up. They ran on.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Lonely, lonely, little umbrella.<p>

Lanhua stares outside.

It rains, just as it always has.

Only now, there is no one to share it with.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Zenshi had a moment of delusional delight nearing the end of their charge. When Abuto, with one arm, cut down several, Zenshi began to smile. But when his own father covered his back, he had a split second of disconnected joy. He never knew where it came from, but it was there: the blood of a Yato mixed in with a freedom he could not quite put into words.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>.: NOVEMBER, TWO MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Their spaceship drifts by Earth vaguely on the Earthlings' schedule. Mei can't say she enjoys their marshy tie with the Kiheitai, but she has developed a tentative bond with their highest ranking lady, Matako. The two lament daily about the woes of traveling with motivated but bloodthirsty men.<p>

Nonetheless, as they pass into the Milky Way and reach Earth's solar system via Amanto loop gates, she watches the red of Mars blink amongst the asteroids and smiles bitterly.

But the one thing she'll never come to terms with is the fact that that's where the asteroid belt lies.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Three people jostle him as he gets on the ship.<p>

Seven times, he gets lost.

Three days, and he knows exactly why he's here.

But he doesn't acknowledge the fact that he's running away, because the three hundred seventh Harusame recruit will eventually return.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>There were three things about humans that never ceased to fascinate the young Yato man with hair of mysterious midnight blue.<p>

One was the hospitality of strangers — at least, most of them. A majority of humans were so open to talk, to touch and feel, that he was subject to a fair portion of culture shock.

Two was, of course, earthling food. A subject, he found, was most intriguing to his race.

Three was — no, not the thinness of the air and the potency of the sun — the radiated warmth of the people he became acquainted with. Perhaps they were anomalies in the green-speckled planet. He would not know otherwise.

But it was that very warmth that attracted him to the people he had come to know, to the woman that first laid an impression of strength and independence upon him. It had taken time, but eventually she had stopped avoiding those questions. In fact, despite never really answering his questions, skipping maybe fifteen of twenty, she had eventually allowed him to know. She answered each one in time.

So, when he caught wind of the explosion a split second before it occurred, he found himself trying to remember every single question he'd ever asked, and every single answer she'd ever given him, every single thing he'd learned about her.

How she might have fallen in love with a man.

How she might have given up her future as a woman above the surface.

How she owed Hinowa her life.

How she was fond of little gourmet cakes.

Her low tolerance of alcohol, her violent tendencies, her grumpy morning protests, her socially awkward conversation starters.

Her scars, both visible and invisible.

An endless list of things, from "hist'ry" to "blue and yella" to "part'clar" little things that flashed in his mind with poignant brevity, like a last breath.

All of these little grains of sugar, dissolved his memory, spurring him forward. They pushed him in front of her when the explosion occurred because this time, for her sake, he would take her scars for her.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Early SEPTEMBER, THREE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

* * *

><p>He didn't realize how many nights she'd spent with him, sometimes falling asleep after a long day, sometimes just staring out the window into Yoshiwara's eternal night bustle, until he found that the fit of her hand in his was no longer a shock.<p>

Simply because it just belonged.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>The Yato were a mercenary clan, built for battle and war. Sometimes, Zenshi was convinced they were programmed for loss. But then, other times, when he saw the pain and longing in people's eyes, he wondered if Yato was just a name.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>.: NOVEMBER, TWO MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Sometimes Tabs joins her. They sit before a large window and just stare. They don't have to figure out if they're going up, down, left, or right.<p>

So long as they keep moving.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Tsukuyo's lungs were burning, but the fire was an accolade of strength. Kunai after kunai left her hands, even as bullets whizzed perilously close to her skin. It was a wonder she was only skimmed by one shot on the arm, ducking in time to avoid a laser. She shouldn't have plunged in so suddenly, but now that Zenshi was at her side, she simply kept her eyes glued to his back and never let the distance between them grow. A deluge of adrenaline rushed through her limbs.<p>

She danced.

And when the massive East Tomokaz Trans-Galaxy Terminal appeared out of nowhere — its elongated takeoff shafts looming over them with their branded glory — Tsukuyo was one of the first to leapt to the forefront. Some military ships were still descending, but the rebels had acquired a haphazardly constructed air force. Many zipped by on small air bikes, cruising with deadly silence and speed. Tsukuyo ran beneath their crossing shadows.

"Hit the floor!" Mei shouted. She dragged two people, including Tsukuyo, to the ground as a wave of rapid artillery shells crashed down. Tabs and Zenshi knelt before them, umbrellas open, canvases licking with flames.

"Head left," Zenshi instructed, spotting a good number of rebel fighters taking cover behind taller buildings.

They wove closer and closer, Tsukuyo brushing the hair out of her eyes and tearing the hem of her kimono. A shard of shrapnel had opened a devastating cut up her right leg, but she simply took another shear off her sleeve and wrapped it up. Whatever happened, she refused to fall too far behind the Amanto warriors.

A Sciuttlan rebel waved them forward; they made another diagonal pass. They were nearing the main entrance of the terminal.

"Stay behind me," instructed Zenshi. For a split second, the smoke ebbed and the blur was gone. He had a hand resting gently on the small of her back as they waited. His dark hair clung to his forehead with sweat and he wiped blood from his chin multiple times.

"Are ya holdin' up all right?" Tsukuyo panted. The question, though aimed at everyone, was mostly for Zenshi.

"I'm fine," he replied. "Mei?"

"Managing," replied the Yato woman.

"Tabs?"

"A-okay, Lieutenant."

Mei elbowed the tech, and he grimaced.

"Last jump, and we'll catch up to Abuto and Jenhao," Mei continued. "Look."

They followed the direction she pointed in — there, preparing to raid the terminal's main entrance as soon as enough rebels made it to that point, where their fellow Yato crewmen. An insurmountable number of deceased was scattered across streets, gruesomely run over by tanks and armed vehicles. No one admitted the difficulty of running past collapsing comrades. There was always a burst of colored skin here or there, a teal head of hair stained red and hitting the pavement with a devastating crash.

"That's a big jump," Tabs muttered loudly.

"Deal with it." Zenshi pulled out the gun Mutsu had handed him earlier. "Take this."

He pushed it into Tsukuyo's hands, despite her obstinate protests.

"You're the only one unarmed, chickie," Mei scoffed impatiently. "Can you even shoot?"

"Mei." Tabs touched her arm, but she shook him off.

Tsukuyo glared, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and accepted the gun.

Despite the derisive tension between the two women, the four of them moved together fluidly. Zenshi and Mei covered the front and back ends of their four-man cell, clearing out the safest path. Tabs and Tsukuyo simply continued moving, maneuvering, attacking where they had to. It was a long trail of ducking and covering and shooting, picking their way across the wide city avenue and over still-warm bodies.

They stumbled behind a large building, a huge black skyscraper with black steel bars shaped in long X's running up the face. Beneath one of the beams, with several perched up higher, were Abuto and Jenhao.

"I'm tempted to take one of those ships and just get the hell outta here," Abuto grumbled, grimacing. He rubbed his neck, hand coming away red. Startled, a few asked if he'd been injured. The vice-captain merely shrugged off the question, looking nonchalant though slightly paler than usual.

"Between the next shelling, we go," Jenhao announced. "Laser fire will be heavy, so stay low. If you have one of those special shields, use them. Though I doubt they'll stand against these for long."

Several Sciuttlans nodded. A few strange Amanto, clearly foreigners with their sickly skin and droopy antennae, clustered around Jenhao attentively. Despite his injuries, Jenhao was a stunning commander. Ridden with bullet holes, wounds hastily wrapped in cloth, he emanated the military brilliance that was once the 7th Division's pride.

"North Star troops," said the Yato man, having traded his Sciuttlan pastels for an old Harusame uniform, "follow my lead. The rest of you, follow Abuto. Are we clear?"

A murmur of assent rippled through the ragtag crowd. Most had firearms strapped along their belts, but several carried samurai swords and staffs. It was, in a way, another joui war.

As soon as the heavy artillery fire ceased, leaving their ears with an irreparable ring, they took off. Instantaneously, several men jerked backwards, bullets embedded in their chests.

"Get down!" hollered Jenhao. He and the first wave of rebels worked low to the ground, finding cover where they could.

Zenshi touched Tsukuyo's elbow lightly, his mouth so close to her ear she felt the light warmth of his breath. The courtesan turned, just slightly, so that their cheeks were side by side as he whispered to her.

"We're going up the east entrance."

Tsukuyo frowned.

"But didn't–"

"C'mon, chickie," Mei hissed, waving them down the avenue. She and Tabs had already begun to slip away from the group upon seeing Abuto move out into the open.

At the end of the narrow corridor, the space fighter that they hadn't seen since the beginning of the fray awaited them. Elbow deep in dried, flaky blood, a maniacal gleam in his eye, was Kamui.

"Seize the terminal," he ordered Tabs and Mei. The two exchanged glances.

"Yes, sir," murmured Mei, tossing Tsukuyo a glare because the human woman was still frozen to the spot. Zenshi's hand on her lower back urged her forward. But doubt gnawed a knot in Tsukuyo's gut, and a voice grating on her ears whispered imminent doom.

She shook her head. She couldn't let such ludicrous thoughts hinder them now.

As they ran, stealthy within the shadows, it occurred to her that she was practically aiding a Harusame heist of sorts. Nonetheless she followed the strong Amanto presences, each one gliding from alleyway to alleyway with catlike grace.

Almost as if they'd teleported, the east end of the terminal appeared. A solid wall of gleaming metal in irregularly arranged squares and blocks. It resembled what Tsukuyo had seen of Edo's terminal, but had a strange blue luster to its panels.

"How'd you know this was unguarded?" asked Mei incredulously.

Kamui gave her an amused glance, one brow raised higher than the other.

"I killed them all. The backup too."

"Of course," muttered the Yato woman, shuddering when Kamui picked the crusted Amanto blood off his arms like a scab. In the meantime, Tabs was browsing his handheld tablet – which he'd swiped from the control room earlier – and was monitoring enemy maneuvers.

"_Danchou_, you took down the first backup wave, but it hasn't gone unnoticed." Tabs flipped the electronic screen so they could see it. "Second one comes in five."

"Five minutes is plenty of time," Zenshi broke in. He pointed towards the unmanned door just to their left, marked with an_ authorized personnel only_ placard. There was a mutual nod of concurrence, and they resumed their five-man invasion.

In unison, the four Yato flinched. For Zenshi, there was a foggy sensation of having been in the same place before, during a different time, shielding someone else. Kamui, whose instincts were sharpest, threw himself to the floor immediately. Mei and Tabs followed, bodies collapsing to the ground with such urgency that it appeared as if their bones had simply melted.

But Tsukuyo didn't know; she couldn't have.

"Zen—"

But suddenly there was nothing because there were steel shards flying and just the two of them, hanging in space for what seemed like forever.

* * *

><p><strong>.: Early SEPTEMBER, THREE WEEKS AGO :.<strong>

* * *

><p>He dreamt of Hosen and of Mutsu and of his father.<p>

_There, in a dimly lit dojo, he would crash into the wall and watch the muscles in the Night King's arm ripple. Every line in the man's skin revealed itself to Zenshi's eye, and a single blink had him pressed to the floor, struggling to breathe. Over and over, Hosen taught him the torturous meaning of strength. But yet he could not muster a single ounce of energy to retaliate. His thin arms hung loosely by his sides. Hosen disappeared._

_ "__You don't know the way around your own ship?" Mutsu always asked, materializing out of thin air. And there she was, asking it again, her mousy brown hair skimming her lashes and shading her inquisitive eyes. "You're pretty slow, aren't you?"_

_He was more exasperated than offended._

_ "__I know my way."_

_ "__So then where are we?"_

_ "__Yes, son, where are we?" Linter asked. "What are you doing at this end of the ship?"_

_It occurred to Zenshi that Mutsu had it all wrong. He wanted to ask her how _she_ was so slow to catch on. Daughters of pirates generally tended to be quick and witty. So then why hadn't she caught onto the fact that this was Linter's ship, not Zenshi's?_

_ "__It's your ship," she repeated._

_ "__It's not."_

_Her hair is longer, tied in a simple clasp between her shoulder blades, and there is a human man at her side._

_ "__It's your ship," she kept repeating. The same line echoed until the sounds didn't match her mouth, until the human clasped her arm and told her something Zenshi couldn't hear, until her face blurred into tired lines and all he saw was his aunt's face, then his mother's face, and then his father's face._

_ "__It's my ship," his father said._

_ "__It's not." The words floated from Zenshi's lips despite his efforts to keep silent. They came unwillingly, but they weren't untrue._

_ "__It used to be my ship," Linter corrected. A firm hand was placed on Zenshi's shoulder and suddenly Linter was so much taller than him. He was a little boy again, huddling beneath the wing of his father. "But now it's yours."_

Zenshi awoke with a start. Sweat, beaded on his forehead, ran slickly down to his chin.

"You all right?" came the soft murmur.

His chest heaved, as if he'd sprinted across an entire nation only moments prior. Visibly, the Yato swallowed, shuddering when a hand gently caressed his cheek. Her fingers came away damp with the nervous, cold perspiration from his hairline.

Tsukuyo didn't say much, but she didn't find it necessary. As soon as he absorbed her presence, her faintly sweet but smoky scent, the cold dissipated. He nodded in reply to her earlier answer, coming to his senses and taking her hand slowly.

"Nightmare?"

"Not quite." Zenshi didn't exactly want to sit up. It was serene, having calmed down, watching the faint light through the window catch the thin gold highlights of her hair.

"Somethin' else?"

"You could say that."

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ONE MONTH LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"He was like my cynical older brother," Jinlin says resignedly. "Taught me to be who I am," she adds with a small smile. "Hard to tell, right?"<p>

The most nondescript yet elegant woman on the entire ship, Jinlin boasts an unremarkable existence among the Harusame's 7th Division. But just as a piece of paper or an unmarked book cover may lay blank and meaningless on its own, Jinlin's contents and colors and influences are what make her an entirely unique personality. It didn't take people long to realize that the young woman who had accompanied a brusque warrior of a man would turn out to be one of the division's most valuable assets.

"You've been promoted to his position," Zenshi notes. The group trudges away from the cemetery, leaving thick tracks in the mud. The sky is surprisingly docile, the rain stopped momentarily for the ceremony.

"It's nothing much," Jinlin sighs. "I tend to follow Mei wherever she goes, anyway."

Mei has, in a way, become Jinlin's younger sister. The older Yato woman keeps a watchful eye on the younger, never doubting the latter's skill but always diligent. Part of it is for her own peace of mind, and part of it is a lingering loyalty to both her cousin, Delong, and to Zenshi.

"Take care of her," Zenshi says in a low voice.

"Of course, Lieutenant." She is one of the few he doesn't correct when she calls him by his old title. It's a strange feeling now, to be called Lieutenant Zenshi, but the way Jinlin says it, the name harbors no affiliation with Kamui or the Harusame. It's simply _him_. He's sincerely grateful for that.

Tabs and Mei trail behind them, conversing in sotto voce tones, as if they're trading ruinous secrets. But one of them eventually bursts into giggles and it's evident that they're doing nothing more than tossing bad jokes back and forth. Once in a while, they include Tsukuyo, who treks dutifully through the mud but appears somewhat alienated on this rainy planet. For the longest time, all the Yato present have felt like foreigners, so uncomfortable on foreign soil that they have grown numb to most culture shocks unless they pay close attention. Now, on their own home soil, the misty air is painfully nostalgic yet sharply mismatched with their transformed identities.

But even so, it's home.

Tsukuyo struggles somewhat, soaking in the desolate cities and winding urban streets, the eternal rain – holding its breath for the moment – and the various Yato that cast them curious glances.

"If you ever need anything," Jinlin says suddenly, "don't hesitate to call."

Zenshi passes her a slightly amused glance. "Call the Harusame?"

"Of course." She smiles slightly, but doesn't look his way. "And keep in touch with Jenhao, seeing as he's strayed to politics." She pauses, but then continues, almost talking to herself. "Our team is rather small. It looks like new recruits shall be rising up the ranks soon."

Zenshi nods. "Pick wisely."

"As if I ever had the choice," Jinlin laughs. "I'll see to it that Mei picks a balanced team."

"And make sure she thinks things through."

Jinlin smiles, genuinely. It's something they rarely see, and he's glad she's able to muster the strength to do so in her grief.

"Are you going to see your family?"

Zenshi pauses. He's been watching Mei and Tabs jostle Tsukuyo back and forth, wondering if he should go to her side. But the blonde courtesan has a tentative smirk on her face, growing fonder of Mei's teasing and Tabs's obnoxious punch lines.

"I'm not holding my breath," he says. "But maybe when it rains, we'll go."

Jinlin looks up; a raindrop lands squarely on her forehead.

"That sounds like a yes."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Tsukuyo looked as she always had, leaning over him, except this time her dark violet eyes reflected the fear trembling in her limbs. Her hands wove through his hair, arm wrapped around him as she tried hoisting him to and upright position.<p>

He couldn't really hear what she was saying. He wished she would repeat it.

The pain in his back and abdomen had reached a peak, and it had turned into a numb scream of black and red that encompassed his entire body. People were hollering in his face. From seemingly nowhere, Mei and Tabs swooped into his vision, faces aghast. A flash of red, and Zenshi tried to turn and see Kamui. When he couldn't quite find his former captain, he reached up weakly and grasped Tsukuyo's wrist.

A wrenching rip caused him to cry out in agony.

Kamui certainly seemed to be fond of pulling out strips of metal left and right. A long, low whistle slipped through the boy's mouth, startling Zenshi with the sudden recovery of his hearing. Kamui shook his head.

"That was really dumb," said the redhead bluntly. "Really dumb."

"No need to say it twice," Zenshi managed through gritted teeth. The volume of their words pulsated in and out of his ears. One moment, he could hear Tsukuyo's repetitive mantra – though he couldn't discern the words – and the next, nothing. Then five seconds later, Mei was barking orders and Tabs was flipping urgently across the screen of his digital pad, and then abruptly, there would be absolutely nothing again.

"I'm not going to stay and help you, Zen," Kamui admitted frankly. Not a drop of remorse colored his face. He smiled, of course.

"I don't expect you to," replied Zenshi. Or at least, the older Yato thought he answered. In truth, his lips were cold and his throat constricted, the world was a gradient of blurred lines and disconcertingly sharp, exaggerated angles.

Just as he lost consciousness, Zenshi began to hear and understand Tsukuyo's words. Over and over again, she said:

"_Don't leave, stay with me_."

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ONE MONTH LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>There is a nostalgic ring to the dank, narrow alleys that wind through the Yato community on the western edge of what suffices as their capital. Everything grows upward in urban fashion, albeit slightly decrepit and leaky. It would be equivalent to a Kabukichou suburb, Zenshi supposes..<p>

"This ain't a depressin' place at all," Tsukuyo says bluntly, a sardonic and dubious expression plastered on her face. Her sarcasm rings in echoes along the walls.

"It's just quiet," Zenshi replies. He offers his hand, and she takes it.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p><em>His aunt brushed his hair back from his face. From up close, she was startlingly young, the creases smoothed from her face. Almost peculiarly, it seemed as if seven years had been carved from her face.<em>

_With a start, Zenshi realized that that was simply how he remembered her. He hadn't seen her for seven years, and for two of those seven she had been dead. It was a concept he hadn't quite let sit long enough to absorb. He owed most of his denial to Mutsu, who was stunningly similar to her mother in terms of the soft expression. Of course, Mutsu was prone to cold bursts of indifference as well as a tendency to abandon all soft, flowery aspects of femininity in exchange for gruff leadership, but still they were similar._

_Zenshi opened his mouth to speak, but Auntie shook her head quickly._

_ "__You can't stay here," she told him softly. "You can't stay here."_

_When he finally got around to forcing his voice out, all he managed was a feeble request for her to stay. "Wait," he whispered, almost inaudibly._

_And then his Aunt, with the long, brown hair she and Zenshi's mother both had, began to fade. She continued repeating the same words until her voice was firmly ingrained into his mind, seared as a last memory he acknowledged as real._

_But even things printed into memory were susceptible to change._

By the time Zenshi realized he was awake, those words had changed.

_"__You can't die here, you can't die now, you can't die."_

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ONE MONTH LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>They pick their way around puddles, the surefooted Zenshi guiding Tsukuyo through the dark underpasses, having memorized the paths long ago. He pictures children running through this alley, little girls with red hair and yellow rain boots, their brothers bounding off the walls with laughter.<p>

"It's not far," Zenshi says.

But Tsukuyo doesn't mind. Her hand, clasped gently within his larger one, is warm and secure, and she is content.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Stop savin' my life," was the first thing he heard. "I can take care of m'self."<p>

The words weren't exactly directed at him; instead, it was as if they were spoken thinly to the air, unaware of his conscious state. He contemplated replying, but discovered he could muster no strength. Vulnerability struck him like a fiend, gnawing ferociously at his gut. Oddly enough, it wasn't just the fact that he lied prone in a pale room – instead, it was because it suddenly occurred to him that an entire block of time was absent from his memory.

"And stop fakin' sleep. I know yer there." A cold hand brushed his cheek.

"You could tell?" he murmured.

"Of course. Yer breathin' changed. Yer not so discreet and sneaky anymore, y'know."

A silent chuckle hung dejectedly in the air. Was it a fair tradeoff? To hand in aloofness and fine-detail skills as punishment for falling?

He hadn't lost it _all_.

After all, she still flushed red when he reached for her hand.

* * *

><p><strong>.: NOVEMBER, TWO MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Humans, Mei realizes, are brash and brave and the most peculiar race she shall ever encounter. They do not thirst for blood, like the Yato, by nature. They thirst through greed and desire and vengeance.<p>

Yet they also do so for love.

It's a strange thing, to see people who wish to protect the tiny quotidian things they love. She wonders if she would give up her life just to see someone smile.

She decides she would.

But humans are the ones who taught her this, and that makes them all the more mysterious.

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Three Hours Ago- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>There were metal shards protruding from his back, from his chest, from his limbs. Mei and Tabs, who could probably care less about the extensive amount of bleeding at the moment, were far more concerned about holding their former lieutenant down.<p>

"We have to keep moving," Kamui informed them flatly.

Zenshi, attempting to smile wryly, agreed.

"Zen, you're not going _anywhere_," hissed Mei, pushing on the man's shoulder. Disregarding his old classmate completely, to her dismay, Zenshi began tearing the shrapnel from his body with reckless lack of consideration for himself. Tabs grabbed him by the other shoulder, and Tsukuyo took his hand.

"Stop," all three ordered in unison.

Then, with horror, they realized that the man was hardly conscious at all. Yet his hand was at his belt, and despite teetering precariously like a building about to topple, he was watching.

Watching out for them, their silent guardian wolf with the blue eyes and black hair.

* * *

><p><strong>.: NOVEMBER, TWO MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>She sometimes wonders, when Tabs sits next to her by the window, if it was Zenshi that taught them their ways. Certainly, they have fed off his strange, standoffish ways and taciturn dealings. Whenever she thinks this, she laughs aloud, startling her companion.<p>

Tabs certainly has a knack for falling under the influence of others. He still has that nervous quality about him, but occasionally he'll throw her the perfect lopsided smile, the one that is half in the present and half somewhere else, replicating a Zenshi-like demeanor with ease. He's also developed a calloused, experience side – most of the younger recruits have been effectively scolded by Tabs. Typically, the onlooker Jinlin will smile to herself. There is nothing about Tabs's strong instruction that does not reflect Ensign Delong. And when Tabs is soft and considerate, he is a heartwarming mix of Jenhao and his own goofy, lighthearted self.

His younger sister had taken off on a quest to be a star, and despite the fact that she aims to be like intergalactic idol Aina, Mei approves of Tabs's support for his sibling. She has watched him grow from timid deer to brave soldier. She wonders how she herself looks nowadays.

But today, she wears a small Harusame pin that designates her rank as Lieutenant. Essentially, she is third-in-command, but she is loud and obnoxious and has picked up the least from Zenshi as possible. Even after four years in class and seven years on deck with him, she decides she'll never be a competent diplomat. In fact, she can't even keep silent for very long, so "to hell with that!" she exclaims.

"Do you ever miss him?" Tabs suddenly asks, sitting cross-legged beside her. Mei isn't so much taken aback as she is offended. Some part of her tells her she'll always miss her old, stoic companion, but some part of her is steely and cold. Yato.

"Nah," she replies. She's lying, but she won't let that convince her. "I don't mind not being stepped on."

Tabs throws her his toothy grin, which often looks out of place on his matured features. He's got rough stubble along his jaw line, which is square and filled out. She's never noticed, but upon closer look, Tabs has deep green eyes, swirling with evergreens and spring maples.

"Do you?" she returns.

He shrugs.

"I feel like he hasn't left, sometimes."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Tsukuyo's hand was firmly enclosed in his fingers. He ran his thumb along her knuckles, softly. He didn't ask where they were.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Three Hours Ago- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Mei, Tabs. We're leaving." Kamui hadn't been joking when he said he'd leave Zenshi to bleed to death. The unspoken but evident command was astoundingly stiff. But Mei and Tabs were ever loyal to their former lieutenant, probably out of habit. Tabs was waiting on Zenshi to regain consciousness and snap something about hustling or getting shot. He often found comfort in that low, smooth voice. Nothing came.<p>

Mei grabbed Tabs's arm, wrenching him away.

"Sorry, chickie," Mei said through gritted teeth. Tsukuyo caught the glimmer of agony in the other woman's eyes, torn between two different loyalties.

"He would tell us to go," Tabs agreed, letting his fellow Yato steer him away. "Maybe next time, Lieutenant."

Zenshi, now with an arm slung around Tsukuyo's shoulders, looked up briefly. He was battling just to stay awake, let alone move. It wouldn't do to simply up and away to heaven now – though he doubted he'd be going anywhere nice.

"You need to lay down," Tsukuyo told him firmly.

Zenshi weakly grunted, watching Mei and Tabs repeatedly cast concerned glances over their shoulders as they ducked into the gaping hole made by the explosion. A sensor, which had detonated the bomb, had fallen to the ground, half melted and demolished.

At this point, Zenshi didn't even bother mentioning that he was bleeding to death. In fact, he didn't even bother asking her to take him back to the base because in her current state, they'd never make it. The blonde courtesan was trembling, but not from his weight. Her hands and arms were slick with the blood of his wounds. She was terrified.

Tsukuyo's expression was iron, set into a gaze of determination despite her quaking heart.

Suddenly, Zenshi wished he had kept his mother's locket – it would have gone beautifully with her porcelain features, slipped around her neck with his own hands.

"Why are ya always dyin' on me?" she said hoarsely.

"I'm not dying on you," he replied. He tried to continue, but the massive pain that had resided to complete numbness began to return full force. The Yato didn't need to say it, though. Tsukuyo knew full well his meaning, despite denying it with all of her being as she pressed her lips hard to his.

He wasn't dying on her.

He was dying _for_ her.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>The room was very, very white. Pristine, even. He floated in the snowy nothingness, Tsukuyo's hand weightless in his. Eventually, the creams of the walls melded with her light complexion, erasing away her dark kimono and washing her in light.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Three Hours Ago- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>A pair of strong hands removed Zenshi from Tsukuyo's shoulders. Whether or not Zenshi comprehended the fact that his father and Jenhao had returned for him could not be determined. Tsukuyo, alarmed, made to follow, but a colossal shadow slipped over them.<p>

The Kaientai.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Vaguely, as he slipped back to sleep, he was aware of Tsukuyo's light kiss on the forehead.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Three Hours Ago- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Mutsu scooped Tsukuyo up, gripping a dropdown ladder. Jenhao and Linter hoisted Zenshi on board, where Sakamoto was surprisingly conducting the most efficient work any of them had ever seen from him.<p>

"He looks like he took a bomb," muttered Linter.

"Excuse my bluntness, sir, but it looks like you should be worrying about yourself before your son," Jenhao murmured. The former Harusame petty officer was right – Zenshi's father looked like he had nearly been sliced in two, but lived to tell the tale. The blood loss made him paler than he already was, but he was seemingly unperturbed. There was little to make father and son less frightening than they already were, and in their current states, they were pale as ghosts that carried the same facial features.

Tsukuyo gripped tight to Mutsu, whose cape was ridden with bullet holes and tears, until they were drawn into one of the merchant company ships.

"What I would give for your mother to be alive," Linter muttered to Mutsu. "This would be a scratch for her to stitch up."

"We'll do what we can," Mutsu replied. The lack of inflection in her voice was typical, but oddly detached. A brief glance out a cracked window — though nothing of Mei, Tabs, or Kamui could be discerned — ended the blanched moment, and Mutsu proceeded to order a long list of equipment and procedures from their first aid unit that Tsukuyo could hardly follow. "I'm not my mother," Mutsu said, "but I can try."

"No pressure has really been applied to his wounds," Sakamoto suddenly noted. Indeed, Zenshi had bled out massive amounts of blood. "Mutsu, can you perform miracles?"

The bespectacled man was uncharacteristically serious, kneeling beside Mutsu and applying pressure to some of Zenshi's smaller wounds.

"Elevate his arm, the one with the biggest cut. And squeeze here," replied his co-captain, ignoring Sakamoto's question as she instructed him to cut off blood flow. "The brachial artery is about here. Try to slow the bleeding."

Zenshi's eyelids fluttered. He didn't quite open his eyes, but he did manage to say something.

"Ice," he muttered through dry lips.

"You heard the man," Mutsu snapped. "Get us some ice."

Anything to help stem the flow of blood so that Mutsu could, as quickly as possible, close up them major wounds and prevent infection. Though Yato bodies were resilient and quick to heal, the large shards of debris and shrapnel had prevented immediate cell re-growth, and the large puncture wounds were bleeding too profusely to close up. With luck, ice would slow bodily functions and prevent him from emptying of all remaining life.

Zenshi, expectedly, found wounds an encumbrance. But in his current state, only his mind wandered freely, for he was severely incapacitated and thus obviously unable to protest Mutsu's efficient administrations. Sakamoto had a death grip just above his right elbow — his fingers had long since gone numb — but that wasn't a bad thing, seeing as the human man was successfully fending off death by exsanguination.

The rattling of the ship indicated fast travel. Zenshi had always had a high pain tolerance, but the frantic click of Tsukuyo's heels back and forth were not at all helpful. If only she would just sit down.

"You feel anything?" Mutsu barked.

"I feel it all," Zenshi grumbled, not even flinching when she every caustically cleansed the attended wounds. "You stitch fast."

"Not as fast as you or Mom, but fast enough. There are things you learn as a former pirate girl."

* * *

><p><strong>.: ELEVEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"So, how many hours did you go with a bullet in your shoulder?" asks the girl with orange hair. He doesn't really answer, only casts a disinterested glance at his bandaged torso. The nurses have certainly overdone themselves this time; he can hardly move an inch, despite the fact that it was just a shoulder wound.<p>

Mei's Inuisei friend shakes her head. "I'm not sure whether to laugh or to cry. You're ridiculous, you know that?"

Kougi has never been a tactless girl, but tends to be as openly blunt as Mei at times.

"There are certain inhibitions I tend to dispense of," Zenshi replies flatly. "Sarcasm restraints included."

"I'm still not sure if I like you," Mei interjects. She leans on Kougi, who has silky Corgi fur like none other. "How 'bout you, Kou-chan?"

"Guys with hair that long are never to be trusted," she says in her little canine yip.

"I'll cut it in his sleep one of these days," Mei decides, the thought churning in her head. "How does that sound, my fellow Yato?"

"That'll be the day you cut off yours," Zenshi answers.

"Deal." Mei holds out her hand to shake. To her surprise, Zenshi grips it with stunning strength. She expects him to simply decline in that demure way of his, but he reaches out and accepts the challenge with what can only be called effortless grace, despite the bandages and the wound.

It's a deal that comes to fruition in a few years.

It's one that neither really forgets, because they know exactly what it means.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>He wondered how much of the white nothingness was himself and how much was just space. He floated in a medium more akin to molasses than water. Each movement elicited a gentle, pin-sized brush against his skin, the wave of an entire effort rolling static across his limbs.<p>

_What is a Yato?_

_Who are you?_

_Where do you come from?_

_There was a boy in the mirror, with long, navy-black hair and forlorn eyes. He solemnly wove his hair into a braid, donning a gold, blue, and black uniform branded proudly with the school's insignia on the left breast pocket. _

_"I killed a man," said the boy._

No, you haven't.

_"I killed myself, today," said the boy._

No, you haven't.

_"I haven't killed anyone," the boy finally corrected._

Yes, that's true.

_"But I'll kill him soon."_

_A pregnant pause weighted the pinpricks on his skin._

But you'll never truly kill him, will you?

_"I wouldn't know that. Would you?" asked the boy. The closer the boy walked, the younger he looked. With each step, it was like Zenshi was approaching a mirror that shaved away years and years. Soon, he was but a child, with a grayed expression and a sky blue Yato umbrella dripping wet with nonexistent rain._

_"I don't want to kill him," said little Zenshi._

I know you don't.

_But the boy backed away, and the years returned with implacable thirst, clinging to the child form until they were nearly the same height._

_Vengefully, the man before him sliced off lengths of hair, chunk by uneven chunk._

_"I have killed him."_

No, you haven't.

_Zenshi wanted to laugh because whoever this man before him thought he was, he wasn't. Evidently, Zenshi had not killed himself — he _could not_ kill himself. He had shed an identity along with his hair, but he hadn't even done it himself. His mother had, with a razor, under midnight's incandescent light, prior to his departure. And even then, he couldn't kill the lingering feelings for his old, old life. He could only lock them away for an extended period of time, emotions latent until a key reintroduced itself into being. Inception was never sudden — things would leak out from time to time. _

_Anger._

_Sadness._

_Worry._

_Affection._

_Resolve._

_Four years ago, exchanging deals on a ship, he had let the Yato he vowed to tame loose. But it was never a negative experience after consideration. First, Zenshi had lamented his lack of control. But he realized that identity was not to be sheared from himself, only adapted._

_The death of his aunt. He was not fool enough to mistake grief for weakness. He did not trade wish to trade time for memories, or his own livelihood for regret. Some memories would come like gift cards — some remained unspent, unused, never experienced. And some to forever pocket, because he could._

_It had been only a few months, but he still recalled lying in the back room of an old woman's shop, attended by a cat Amanto and a robot maid, thinking only of the silver band around Mei's finger. The strongest imagery he could conjure of her was her hair. Once as tangy orange as a sweet tangerine, now pale and strikingly like the sun on an unbearable summer's day. Zenshi didn't pray. He just entrusted her with safety._

_Affection, however, never came easily. He had grown too solitary, too detached for such a feeling to leak from his creaky box of emotions. Yet Tabs was like a skittish cat, nervous and young and afraid despite his feigned impertinence. Zenshi, surprised by himself, was never hesitant to take Tabs under his wing. In a way, they both felt safe. There had never been a friendlier person besides his mother before Tabs._

_He would be strong. It was an old, familiar feeling. From the time Hosen put him down next to the brilliant genius Kamui. Zenshi, who was nine years Kamui's senior, harbored immutable determination since his childhood years to become a worthy opponent. Upon accepting Kamui's request to join the Harusame, there was a harbinger of change; a shadow severed by simple acceptance. He needn't become strong for Kamui. He simply needed to be strong for himself._

_So when more and more emotion began to slip from the once tightly sealed lid of his heart, Zenshi succumbed to more than one of them. He sometimes feared himself. He sometimes hated himself. He loathed others or appreciated them. Having drafted himself as a cold, solitary soldier, the bonds he'd mentally severed began latching onto him again. The boy in the mirror was no different._

_Processed in the blink of an eye, Zenshi knew._

_"You never could have killed me, anyway," the boy murmured. Closer now, younger now, the little one held up a small box. Placed carefully atop the box, his mother's golden locket._

You're right, I couldn't have.

_"So will you take this?" the boy asked. The locket was gone. Just the box, a little treasure chest, closed. The surface was ebony, but made of polished wood. The gold trim appeared faded, worn, but still full of a lingering luster. _

It's empty.

_"It's never empty."_

_So he accepted the box, the boy's hands sifting right through his own. As Zenshi backed away from himself, he witnessed the years drawn on again, another inch of hair and another interval of height, from a bloody right eye to haphazardly stitched tissue. A long, white scar across his face, a square jaw, and darker blue eyes. Someone as tall as him, but growing smaller as the gap widened, the hair was shortened, and the uniform donned._

_"Look in the box."_

_He opened it, hesitantly, listening to his own voice._

_Inside, a kiseru, simple and familiar._

_There was the distant scent of smoke in the air, lingering and ubiquitous._

"Smoking isn't allowed in the hospital," he whispered. His words came out as hardly a croak; his throat was parched.

"This ain't a hospital," she replied, impassively.

"Then open a window," Zenshi said, his hand searching for hers. She wrapped her fingers around his wandering ones, quelling his feeble efforts. Zenshi managed a few coughs to clear his throat. "I'm choking on that smoke even in my dreams."

"Are ya sure," Tsukuyo asked, "it wasn't just the Courtesan o' Death come to claim yer time?"

They exchanged tired smiles, never exactly looking at one another. It was Zenshi who first turned to gaze at her, her silken hair and lavender eyes.

"The Courtesan already spends enough time with me, don't you think?"

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Three Hours Ago- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Mutsu was lying when she said she was not the most skilled medic on this side of the galaxy. Her suturing technique was flawless, even by Zenshi's standards, and the profile of her face as she bent over her cousin, blazing through her work, was so similar to her mother that Zenshi had to look away.<p>

"Uncle, you'd better sit down, too," ordered the brunette Yato. "Tatsuma, hand me those scissors."

Snipping off the end of a thread cleanly, Mutsu moved from wound to wound like a honeybee might from a series of flowers. However, Mutsu all but resembled a honeybee, fervently tasked with saving a man (though he would deny the risk to his life because he was simply that type of man).

"I'll be fine until you're done," Linter replied.

"I insist," Mutsu said through gritted teeth.

"Sit," Zenshi echoed.

"I won't, even if you say it, son," Linter sighed, shaking his head. "You're becoming more and more like your mother, you know that?"

"I meant Tsukuyo. She's driving me crazy." Zenshi, who was barely clinging to consciousness, had enough gall and not enough self-restraint at the moment to hold his tongue. The blonde courtesan, whose heels had in fact been annoying more than just Zenshi, froze midstride.

"If ya haven't seen stars yet, I'll make ya see'em now," she spat defensively. Worry was written all across her typically passive — if not blushing — face.

"If I have your consent, I might as well just go." Zenshi grimaced as Mutsu wound another line of suturing string through his right arm. Though Sakamoto had still been clenching tightly to the main artery in his arm, the damage had been done.

"You don't need my consent. But if you're hanging on, might as well stay for the ride." Mutsu finished closing up another severe laceration. "Do you know how much _glass_ is in your arm?"

"I'd rather not."

Tsukuyo knelt at Zenshi's left as Mutsu worked at his right.

"Ya shouldn't talk," muttered the blonde, though she herself was probably just as pale as he was.

"He's practically immortal," snorted Mutsu. "Look how much blood he's lost."

"I'd rather not," drawled Tsukuyo in her typical accent, though her tone was vehement.

"You should nearly be at stage four hypovolemia," Mutsu noted. Yes, Zenshi's breathing rate had gone up, his blood loss was severe to the point of delayed capillary refill, and his complexion was ghostly, but the fact that he had not fallen unconscious — and was obdurately fighting to stay awake — was beyond her comprehension. It wouldn't have surprised her to see an enduring Yato of the greatest strength succumb to a coma.

"That sounds about right," Zenshi concurred. "Are you done?"

"Patience, dear cousin of mine. We're getting there. Uncle, we may need a blood transfusion. He's dealing with death right here." Mutsu meant to playfully insult Zenshi, to lighten the tense mood, but her cousin simply smiled wanly at her. Linter, who waited patiently and had administered basic first aid for himself and Jenhao, nodded and knelt beside Zenshi, alongside Tsukuyo.

"Hello, son."

A jaded expression crossed Zenshi's face. The pause loitered, as if unwilling to leave the space between father and son. They greeted each other as if they had not been beside one another the entire time.

"Hey, Dad."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"If this isn't a hospital," Zenshi began, his eyes adjusting to the bright light streaming through the window, "then what is it?"<p>

Tsukuyo, cracking open the window, glanced at him from the corner of her eye. The sunlight that entered made him squint, but he didn't protest despite the slight shiver as the beams lit upon his bare arms. An IV drip was attached to his arm, most likely infusing a blood replacement.

"I lied, it's a hospital." She rolled her eyes and returned to her spot beside him. The indentation in the pressed white sheets at his side indicated she'd been there for a while.

"How long?" he asked.

"Only three or so hours. Ya slept like the dead. Ev'ryone's surprise ya ain't one of'em."

"They were very hospitable, I must say," Zenshi deadpanned, scanning over the blank room. He'd been dressed in hospital gowns — the plain, honeydew-green kind — that seemed to be the norm on every planet. He could feel stitches and bandages restricting him in every limb, over his entire body. Most had probably been redone professionally, seeing as the ones on right arm were redone with neater, thinner sutures. The staff must've been impressed by Mutsu's handiwork, though.

"I'm sure ya received a cordial welcome," Tsukuyo quipped. "Why'd ya turn down such a prestigious offer?"

He smiled.

"Because you weren't invited."

* * *

><p><strong>.: -Three Hours Ago- SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>She was secretly relieved when he sighed and closed his eyes, letting the ship fly on its own and allowing Mutsu to work without his strained supervision. And she didn't particularly mind that they all noticed her take his hand and wait, folding her legs beneath her like a feline settling down indefinitely.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>A knock at the door cut off any flustered response that Tsukuyo had spent five seconds trying to come up with. Linter peered inside, his drawn expression so similar to Zenshi's that Tsukuyo attributed a good deal of effort to avoiding his gaze.<p>

"Zenshi."

"Dad." The word came slightly unfamiliar to Zenshi's tongue, but he didn't quite find it uncomfortable or foreign. Out of "Father" and "Sir" and a few others, there was something more welcoming about "Dad" at this point than anything else. An irrefutable belonging.

"There's a Harusame liaison here," Linter announced, still frozen at the room's threshold. "She'd like to speak with you. An issue with protocol, I presume."

"Not the anti-Namawala Ezempi movement?"

"No. I'll handle that."

"Was this ever about retribution for you?" Now, it seemed to Zenshi as if his father had never sought some sort of vengeance against the Harusame for the death of Aunt Chuiliu, his sister-in-law. So complacent was he with this new Harusame relation that Zenshi wondered if the effort had been in vain.

"It always has been. But there are other things to fight for, to devote one's time to. Wouldn't you agree that justice is one of them?" Linter matched Zenshi's level gaze with his own. "There are certain people in this world that you can learn to trust." Linter nodded at Tsukuyo. "And from other worlds, too. And by looking in their eyes, you'll see everything you thought you knew, and everything you do not."

The pardon in Zenshi's heart was peerless.

"Then we shall entrust justice to you, Dad."

"With honor," replied Linter, a small, relieved smile crossing his face. He had been forgiven, even if only by the tiny margin allowed to him by words Zenshi's mother had once uttered on a still but frigid night. He stepped aside, allowing the Harusame liaison on standby to enter the room.

The woman that entered was slim and graceful, meek but full of presence. Long, straight hair, black as the voids of space she traveled through, fell straight down her back, over her shoulder blades.

Her first address startled him. But it was nostalgic, respectful, and spoken with a slight smile.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant."

"Good afternoon, Petty Officer Jinlin."

* * *

><p><strong>.: NOVEMBER, TWO MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>The reception is regal, as expected of one of the most prestigious Yato families to have ever graced their rainy planet. Despite having been the widow of a big-name pirate and related via her sister's marriage to possibly the most influential man throughout the near galaxies, Shidare Chuiliu on her own was known and respected as the city's caretaker. A skilled doctor, nurse, healer, midwife, Zenshi's aunt, and Mutsu's mother, she has a name that permeates the population with fond memories.<p>

Though two years late, the entire family and the community that treasured her pay their respects.

Not a word is spoken.

Only a weeping willow tree sways in the wind, a smooth, almost melodic whistle weaving lightly through its hanging branches.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"The Admiral is less than happy to oblige, but he has offered the most gracious pardon due to the rather unusual circumstances," Jinlin informed him. "There will not, however, be any room for you to return to your position in the 7th Division."<p>

"I wouldn't expect there to be," Zenshi replied. "Mei seems to enjoy her job."

"She is the most vibrant lieutenant we have ever seen," Jinlin offered, the slight twinkle in her eye evident.

"Take care of her."

"Of course." Jinlin paused, looked over a few official papers they had to review simply for records' sake. "On account of treason and mutiny, former Lieutenant Zenshi and all following crewmembers" — Jinlin quickly ran through crewmen who had presumably bore the same silver ring around their fingers as the rest of the resistance — "shall be officially pardoned by the Harusame. All named, excluding Zenshi, will retain their statuses on the 7th Division's crew. The Harusame will withdraw all involvement with the Sciuttlan war, on terms drawn out by President Linter of the Andromeda-Centaurus Allegiance." A pause. "I could go on, but you probably get the gist."

"Basically, your dad pulled some major strings and we're all home free." A familiar voice entered the room, followed by the smiling faces of Mei and Tabs. Mei was absolutely drenched — "A mainline water pipe burst and I was caught under it," she claimed — and Tabs was splattered with Amanto blood that was definitely not his own, thankfully.  
>"You two sure caught up to me quickly," sighed Jinlin, not even bothering to turn as the two marched into the room. "Done so soon?"<p>

"The Allegiance is a thing to be feared," Tabs commented sagely, ignoring the question.

"No kidding," snorted Mei. "If it intimidates Admiral Nincompoop, it must be hugely powerful."

"His reasoning is along the lines of, 'If I get into too much trouble, I won't be able to fight strong people,' or something like that," Tabs went on.

"That, and—"

"Your voice is painful to listen to," snarled Zenshi, who had been propped up to sitting position by the helpful hand of Tsukuyo.

"Well _somebody_ recovered quickly," came the quick reply, accompanied by a caustic glare.

"Of course, _Lieutenant._ Would you expect anything less?"

"All right then, peasant, let's get up and go for a run then."

"_Oya, oya_," murmured Zenshi, "are you sure about that?"

"I'm the peasant," Tabs broke in. An awkward lack of follow-through on this addition suddenly broke into laughter all around. Tabs shrugged and rubbed his chin, a goofy smile laden on his features.

"Hey chickie," Mei said, abruptly directing her focus to Tsukuyo. "Make sure this idiot doesn't go around with bullets in his shoulders, m'kay?"

Tsukuyo began to answer, but Mei cut her off to say one more thing.

"But don't keep me updated. I'm not holdin' my breath."

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ONE MONTH LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>The place is comfortably tucked amongst the lines of Yato homes, urban and crowded. They are considered quite wealthy, and thus they can afford a bigger place — though that simply makes it lonelier — complete with its own spacey sidewalks and a shop out front that the main occupant runs as a local bakery and pastries shop. The locals say she makes a mean blueberry cobbler.<p>

"A bakery?" Tsukuyo asks, nearly tripping over a discarded pipe and sending it clattering down the next alley.

"A bakery," he confirms, squeezing her hand.

It's early afternoon, and the usual line is just as long as he remembers it being. He used to weave his way through that same line if Hosen let him out early, all those years ago, slipping to the side entrance that opens into a small mudroom.

"It looks like it'll be a wait," he tells Tsukuyo. "It's worth it, though."

"Worth as much as blue papayas with yella' polka dots?"

"Worth far more," he promises, letting slip from his box of emotions an affectionate smile. "Probably more than space-jellyfish's tongue."

"That must be sayin' a lot," Tsukuyo notes, a quirky smile on her lips. She doesn't really look at him as they stand in line, only converses every now and then about the different people they see, the surprisingly nice weather, the less murky but still cloudy skies, and the willow tree planted down the road.

She admires the number of Yato children, the old grandmothers and doting daughters. A family that saunters out of bakery — a mother, an older son, and a wobbling toddler girl with her hair pulled back in buns — catches her eye.

"She's looks like Kagura," Tsukuyo says.

"Kagura used to live over there, down that street." Zenshi points down towards where the willow tree is planted. "My aunt used to take care of her sick mother."

Tsukuyo nods, absorbing everything on the foreign planet eagerly. Their position in the line creeps closer to the bakery, the aroma of sweet goods wafting their way. The urge to simply pause and enjoy the smells is enticing, but Zenshi insists that they go in. Tsukuyo, fully convinced that he wants to buy her a pie — _how charming_, she thinks — shakes her head and follows him inside.

The bakery is very open but also incredibly cozy. Several alcoves for booths line the far end, and café tables up near the display aisles — filled with bread loaves of all shapes, sizes, and types, and lined with cakes and pastries and everything imaginable — are all neatly arranged and primarily occupied. If the foyer-like entrance isn't stunning enough, there's even a sunroom of floor-to-ceiling length windows. The one wall is inlaid with shelves hosting books; a library of sorts. There are people curled up on window sills, which are large and finely furnished, reading books and nibbling on croissants.

"'This is amazin'," whispers Tsukuyo. "It's beautiful."

She drifts along the line, guided only by her arm linked around Zenshi's. Several young Yato, probably only young teens, bustle about in aprons. As employees, they are marked by their white shifts, navy blue belts, and name badges. One girl, a bright, older girl with a toothy smile, asks if she can take their order once they are up to the front.

"Pick whatever you'd like," Zenshi says as he leans down. His voice brushes by her ear, his breath tickling her neck.

"Ya expect me to _choose_?" she asks loudly, incredulously. Tsukuyo, slightly abashed by her outburst, glances around before returning to her array of choices.

"Take your time," chirps the cashier girl. She flashes Zenshi a grin — one that Tsukuyo mistakes as flirtatious, causing a bristle of irritation to wash through her — of recognition. "I can call out Madame. She makes the best recommendations."

It's a way for Tsukuyo and Zenshi to step aside and allow the girl to continue taking up orders. Tsukuyo flushes slightly, having held up the line for a good extra minute or two.

"Sure," she mumbles. "Thanks."

"Don't be shy," Zenshi tells her.

"I'm _not_."

He shakes her head, and she elbows him. Not hard, but well in the ribs. He grimaces, but just for show.

The Yato girl calls out into a back room, presumably a kitchen area. An older woman, the "Madame" she had denoted earlier, wipes her flour-covered hands on her apron and hurries out, seeming not to mind the fact that her busy work in the back has been interrupted. Almost robotically, and without even looking up, she begins to tell Tsukuyo the day's specialties and of course, her signature blueberry cobbler.

"The cobbler is the most popular, so I would hurry and snag one before they're gone," she says. She glances up briefly, only catching sight of Tsukuyo and her obviously foreign attire. "A visitor, I see. In that case, I strongly recommend the cobbler. It was my son's favorite."

Tsukuyo, who wants badly to try just about everything, smiles because the woman is soft albeit very busy. The passion she devotes to her time and work is evident, even in the way she addresses a mere pastry. She takes an immediate liking to this woman, this Madame of the bakery. Perhaps it's her full lashes and round, heart-shaped face, framed with a few strands of mousy brown hair slowly aged with gray. There is something familiar and comforting in her long, straight nose and thin lips, a tenderness in that subtle smile. She has a swift yet graceful way of gesturing that Tsukuyo has hard time watching because it's reminiscent of something, someone she can't place her finger on.

Zenshi touches the blonde's elbow. She nods, having decided on the famous cobbler as her final choice. When Tsukuyo looks up at him, he has this oddly amused little smile on his face, one eyebrow raised slightly. He's very handsome then, through the scars and the severe angles. She admires those features, for they balance sharp with soft. Her gaze falls from his dark hair to his eyes, to his straight nose and thin lips and the tenderness in his subtle smile…

Tsukuyo blinks slowly; a phantom of something indescribable passes over her. Zenshi squeezes her hand, drawing her slightly closer.

"If the cobbler's not your favorite, the peach pie is also highly recommended," the woman continues, gesturing to a fresh batch of pies that a boy rolls out. "Or, if you're looking for something smaller to take with you, try the—"

"Ma."

Madame stutters mid-sentence. Most of her employees have slowed, watching the exchange between their employer and guests. After the cashier girl recognized Zenshi, most of the older Yato followed suit.

When the Yato woman looks up, her fingers are quivering. She has to put down the little box of cupcakes she was about to offer, because otherwise she would drop them.

As the connection clicks for both Tsukuyo and the woman, the instantaneous exclamations of shock are enough to send half the employees giggling behind their hands. Tsukuyo almost immediately zips her mouth again because the Madame is trying to process what seems inconceivable to her, while Tsukuyo is simply amazed.

"Zen," the lovely Yato lady finally manages.

Her son lays a warm, calloused, familiar hand on hers.

"Blueberry cobbler will be perfect," he says. A genuine smile graces his face. "It's still my favorite, after all."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>East Tomokaz was salvaged, to say the least. As soon as the rebellion overtook the armed forces by chance of miracle – Jenhao's diligent tactics, derived from the late Ensign Delong's military brilliance, along with Linter's impressive command allowed them to storm the terminal and seize control. Once the main airway was cut off, the main government forces retreated, and the city breathed.<p>

The war would not end for quite some time, but the status quo was broken. The ever-inspirational Sciuttlan queen of the rebels, Uhuru, rallied her people and broke through uncharted limits of nationalism. Self-pride and self-protection, she preached, would win this war against tyrants. No longer were they staggering at a stalemate with massive casualties on either side – here was the change they called for. _This_ battle was the catalyst.

Namawala Ezempi, their fearsome adversary, feared not the power of the Allegiance and certainly did not even blink in the face of the rebellion.

But the sun would rise.

And then, he shall hold his breath.

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ELEVEN MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"I want two of the petty officers to accompany Zenshi to the bridge." Abuto's voice echoed in his mind, the same line repeating over and over until it shimmered like a curtain over Kamui's following taunts. "Zenshi, you're making the calls this time."<p>

The bland glance that the young man returned evoked a few chuckles from the rest of the Yato. The two women – Mei and Jinlin – that had congregated at his side by order of their vice-captain, hid knowing smiles beneath impressive fa_ç_ades. Had Zenshi been a more expressive person, there would have been a much more pained look on his face.

"Oh Zen," laughed Kamui, "that means you have to _talk_."

A grin split the redhead's features. Zenshi pushed the image out of his head because nothing was real to him. Kamui's smile, his lighthearted comments meant to hit somewhere harder; they all covered up the captain's own insecurities.

Zenshi knew.

And that was why he would never be allowed to return.

But mutiny was a story for another day.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"As soon as my ships are repaired, we'll take you back to Earth," Mutsu said. "They work quickly here in Sciuttla. The best mechanics have, fortunately, sided with Uhuru's rebellion."<p>

"Your ships? Those are _my_ ships, Mutsu!" exclaimed Sakamoto indignantly. As a human whose immune system had been caught unawares by the various alien viruses, Sakamoto suffered from an excruciatingly stuffy cold. His voice was nasally and he sniffled constantly, but most of all he was _annoying_. Mutsu had a typical quality about her that boasted high tolerance of most things, but with Sakamoto she drew the line early.

"Shut up, Tatsuma," she snapped. "Go blow your nose."

"I told you, it's stuffed!" replied the brown-haired man. He shoved his sunglasses further up his nose, as if that would help decongest his sinuses. "Not snotty, just stuffed!"

"Go blow your nose," repeated his vice-captain, clearly irritated. Sakamoto simply sulked, dragging himself over to a tissue box and unceremoniously sneezing into it. Mutsu rolled her eyes.

Earlier, Mei had viciously – but good-naturedly – flaunted a series a teases, calling Mutsu and Sakamoto a darling couple. Mei had been in danger of a broken nose and a concussion until Zenshi intervened and managed to reconstruct the conversation to something safer. Mei retained a glint in her eye that suggested her antics were far from over. But they waited, partially in trepidation, mostly with shields on.

"As I was saying," Mutsu continued, "as soon as you're cleared and my ships are travel-ready, we'll go. Any objections?"

Her gaze browsed the group of five guests the Kaientai had brought to Sciuttla – Zenshi, Tsukuyo, and the three Hyakka (whose names Zenshi still couldn't quite get straight). After nearly a week of Zenshi in recovery and the Hyakka aiding the rebels in reconstruction of the city, they were ready to leave. They all shook their heads, prepared for the return home. Tsukuyo never commented about what "home" meant. It was implied that Zenshi would go back with her, although he was practically in the same unemployed state as a MADAO.

"I've seen enough color," one of the Hyakka women whispered. "It's pretty, but now it's like rainbow vomit."

The others nodded in unison.

"That settles it, then." Mutsu stood. "Get yourself wrapped up good and packed. Ship's nearly done, so we'll be getting ready, too."

"And the Harusame?" Zenshi asked.

"Leaving," Mutsu threw over her shoulder. "They're going to their home base. The big ship. Good riddance, if you ask me."

"Good riddance," Zenshi echoed.

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ONE MONTH LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>The blueberry cobbler will have to wait because Madame throws her arms around the son that has to lean down so she can reach around his neck. She is halfway between sobs and laughter, or laughter and sobs; Tsukuyo cannot tell, but she can appreciate the reunion.<p>

"I didn't recognize you in your uniform," Zenshi's mother whispers. Madame, as Tsukuyo will take to calling her as well, is small and slim but looks like an elegant orchid. The light brown hair bears a stunning resemblance to Mutsu's – the relation is rather clear between aunt and niece. But most of all, it's her nose and lips that Tsukuyo recognizes, inherited clear as day on Zenshi. Where her tall Yato companion has severe lines from his father, his mother is supple, young, soft. Where Linter has not given Zenshi fiercer, larger lines, his mother has given a graceful, finely chiseled profile and thinner lips. Tsukuyo sees it, and she drinks it in with a thirst that ensnares delight in her heart.

"And you're so tall," adds Madame. Tears are running freely and without shame down her cheeks, mostly hidden because she is still holding onto her son. Or rather, Zenshi holds onto her. "Look how much you've grown."

Then, as if Tsukuyo is suddenly bathed in light, Madame's eyes brighten as her gaze shifts to her son's female companion, dressed in an Earthling's Japanese kimono and graced with skin golden in comparison to the pale Yato. The elated smile on Madame's face is overwhelming — it is an expression that could melt hearts and beget joys in the hearts of all.

"You always keep your promises, don't you?" she murmurs fondly. "And with interest, too."

"I recall you requesting that I bring whoever it was I met home," Zenshi replies easily. Tsukuyo opens her mouth to say something, her fingers itching to grab her kiseru and take a long drag because this is _so much_ to take in, but he cuts her off. "And here she is. This is Tsukuyo, the protector and queen of Yoshiwara."

Suddenly his arm is around her waist, strong and warm, and he pulls them closer than they already are. The blonde stiffens, but discovers that their bodies have a certain puzzle-piece fit that naturally holds them together. The fabric of his blue uniform, stripped of Harusame badges and fitted with his two of his own — one, an olive wreathe encompassing a circle of two arching comets, like yin and yang, for the Andromeda-Centaurus Allegiance, and the second bearing his father's crest — is smooth against her cheek. Quickly, Tsukuyo brushes the hair from her face and offers a somewhat abashed smile at Zenshi's mother.

Madame grasps her hand.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Tsukuyo. Please, enjoy whatever you'd like."

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"There is one request I have for you before you leave," Linter said to his son, who was dressed for travel in a dark cloak, ready to embark on one of the Kaientai's fully repaired ships. "Will you accept it?"<p>

Zenshi cast a dubious but considerate glance at his father.

"Depends on the request. Acceptance will be conditional."

"Fine," agreed Linter. Face to face with his son, who equaled him with impressive height and square shoulders, Linter held out a badge. Any pretense of apprehension immediately dropped like a wall of ice crashing down into the waters, its base deteriorated and the blasé nonchalance shaken.

A golden eagle, wings outstretched, balancing Linter's family crest between its curved, embracing feathers.

"This is—"

"A request for you to become Secretary General of the Allegiance."

Zenshi, tired of being at a loss for words all the time, could only stare.

"The Secretary General is supposed to be elected. I know you serve as the figurehead of all the councils and all the assemblies, but this is—"

"Not official," Linter corrected quickly. "More of an apprentice."

At the word, Zenshi blanched visibly, so again his father attempted to make amends the best he could. Given the fact that his son was not as hostile as he had been upon their first reunion in years, Linter bolstered this resolve with substantial confidence.

"Apprentice doesn't sound quite right," he admitted. "More like a de facto 'heir' to the seat of sorts. Things in the councils don't always go as planned, but you are far more capable than most of the representatives. I'm sure you'd recognize quite a few of them."

"I'm a former _Harusame lieutenant_," Zenshi pointed out emphatically. "I doubt they'd like a pirate to be amongst their higher echelons."

Linter grimaced. "No, certainly not, but at least consider the offer as you travel home. And I'll mention that this won't take you away from Earth if you don't wish to leave it. The Edo Bakufu has general embassy ties with the Allegiance — should you accept, the central Amanto delegation will eagerly open office for you."

"Why are you telling me this?" Zenshi rolled the pin in his fingers. It would, he supposed, actually go quite well where his old lieutenant's stars used to be. And he could tear off that horrid Harusame crest from his shoulder and patch on the Allegiance crown as well. But the true issue remained in how his father had been so perceptive and so willing to offer him a high seat in what was the greatest intergalactic organization of all time. Though named after the most prominent galaxies, Earth, its solar system, and the Milky Way were firmly secured and warmly welcomed under the wing of the Allegiance.

"Son," Linter said, a deliberate glint in his eyes the mirror of Zenshi's own, "you seem to forget who I am."

"I would never," Zenshi replied, a quick, lupine grin flashing across his face. Linter appeared pleased to see the reaction, clapping a hand fondly on his son's shoulder.

"And your conditions?" Forever diligent and attentive, Linter followed through all of his negotiations with consideration and expertise.

"They're easy," Zenshi told his father. He glanced at the sky and said, "Go visit Ma. How long has it been since you last saw her?"

The deluge of forlorn regret that crossed Linter's face was one of the last things Zenshi needed to truly relinquish any former — unreasonable — grudges he held against his father. Linter had never truly left them, and he'd certainly never abandoned them in a quest for power and prestige. He simply protected what he thought needed protecting, and if it meant the balance of several galaxies laid in his hands, then that was what he devoted his efforts to.

But he'd never forgotten his first passion, his first home and hearth and family.

"Not since you graduated," confessed the diplomat. All of a sudden, years coagulated on Linter's face. He was fatigued and full of worry lines, his sharp angles drawn darker by shadows beneath his eyes and dull blue irises. Liveliness would surely return to him, Zenshi knew. Just somewhere else, with someone else, in another time and situation.

"I'll take the job," Zenshi announced. "In fact, I'm grateful for it. But you have to keep your end of the promise, too."

"Of course, son." Linter paused, offering a hand. To his immense surprise, Zenshi grasped his hand and then pulled his father in for an embrace. Before the younger Yato uttered a word, Linter broke in. "Don't apologize, Zenshi. It's a sign of weakness. But if I am forgiven by our own decision, then that is all I will need."

Zenshi clapped a hand on his father's shoulder, mirroring the latter's earlier gesture.

"There is nothing of you I have forgiven, for you've never done me wrong, Dad."

_Because I've come to terms with what I've created of you. And the conclusion is that it was my own denial that created a false identity. I know you and I know myself._

"We're in mutual agreement, then? I—"

Zenshi shook his head, grinning.

"Politicians are talkative, but you're not the type to ramble. Just go visit Ma, will you?"

* * *

><p><strong>.: NOVEMBER, TWO MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you're the Secretary General of the <em>Allegiance<em>," Kougi exclaims, duly impressed by Zenshi's roomy office and mahogany desk. The Yato thinks the entire shebang is a bit much, what with aides running about at his beck and call, the phones ringing without much time between conversations, and a hundred employees scuttling to and fro for him at one glance at the badge he wears.

Kougi, who is still the Inuisei's main envoy, has been promoted to work in the central Edo office instead of that dingy little passport-checking site out in the southwest. She is no stranger to Zenshi's office and is fond of giving him updates on the Harusame. The Allegiance keeps keen eyes on the crime syndicate, sometimes creeping so close that the dark shadows that lead the entire organization feel suffocated. While the old Admiral had often choked and sputtered, Kamui now nonchalantly dodges officers of law like roaches from the exterminators.

"It's been a month," continues the canine woman, "and I _still_ can't get over how nice you have it."

Zenshi often lets her prattle away, in the meantime completing copious amounts of paperwork — which he can never loathe, for some reason — because her quick clip reminds him of Mei, whose mouth never closed. It is a crass reason, seeing as Zenshi often grows irritated when someone wears his ears out, but Kougi has too merry a personality to really grate on his nerves. It is a talent that Mei shares, despite the Yato woman's propensity for taking it one step further and purposefully making jabs at him.

"Zen!" Kougi claps a letter down on his desk. "It's from Mei!"

A puffy white tail wags beneath Kougi's long skirt, and her pointed Corgi ears prick at the sight of the letter. She urges Zenshi to hurry and open it. He does.

_Dear stupid Lieutenant,_

_I hope you're doing well._

"She doesn't hope I'm doing well in the least," mutters Zenshi, before continuing to read out loud for the sake of Kougi, who is too excited to attempt reading upside-down.

_No, just kidding, I don't hope you're doing well. In fact, I hope you sit at a desk so long your behind goes numb and you won't be able to walk. And then we can wheel you down ramps without the brakes on your wheelchair and you can go flying into the next asteroid belt we pass. By the way, there are many asteroid belts here. Unless we've been passing the same one like five times._

"How nice of her," Zenshi comments.

"That's Mei for you." Kougi grins. She tries to skim as Zenshi reads because his lack of inflection doesn't quite mesh with the tone of Mei's letter. The Inuisei is able to tag along briefly, but mostly just listens.

_Tabs and I have this game where we pretend we don't understand the Earthlings and simply do what he calls the _Lieutenant-isn't-paying-attention _nod. Whoever pisses off the most Kiheitai members by the end of the month wins. He likes to think he's winning because I'm buds with some of the officers, making it harder for me to actually piss them off because they know I actually talk plenty. I'm not saying you never talked, but well…you never talked._

_Much._

_Actually, weren't you especially talkative around that chickie? How's she doing, by the way? Are you married yet? Got kids? Oh wait, it's only been like two months, just kidding._

_And your stupid Allegiance cops are always on our tail. Back off, man. This was supposed to be a letter of negotiation. We're always moving quietly, and you ruin everything._

_You ruin everything._

"Did she write that twice or did you just repeat it?"

"She wrote it twice."

"Of course. Who's _chickie_?"

"A friend."

"A _friend_?"

Zenshi waves off Kougi's curious smile.

_Besides that, the fact that Jenhao works with Linter is a bummer because he knows our secrets. Kamui was pretty mad when Jenhao refused to return. But I _did_ get to meet his kid. Cute kid, really. Looks just like him._

_Anyway, I'm actually not just doing a stupid status report, I'm here to tell you that the Harusame will willingly violate any torpedo sanctions and defy all intergalactic laws because we are the Harusame and you don't mess with space pirates._

_Don't worry, as Lieutenant Mei of the 7th Division, I do not make a habit of writing so casually in all my letters. I didn't graduate from a greenhouse for nothing._

_This was just for you. And for Kougi because I'm sure she works there. I checked._

Kougi snorts; it sounds like a half-bark half-yip sort of noise.

_Okay, here goes nothing. I hate this stuff, but I've read over your letters enough to know the yadda-yadda and the blah-blah._

_Oh, and I don't write these by hand. That would take too long. I also can't deal with a pen and paper like you can. It's all Jinlin now._

"She hasn't changed, has she?" chuckles Kougi.

"Seven years, and only a haircut has changed," agrees Zenshi.

_On behalf of the Harusame 7th Division, I, Lieutenant Mei under direct command of Admiral Kamui, request that the Andromeda-Centaurus Allegiance refrain from warmongering activities in the passage of any Harusame ship through Allegiance territories. Should any of our vessels be attacked, there shall be no hesitation in retaliation._

_Basically, we don't want to mess up neutral codes any more than you do, so just look away for a bit, okay? I know you're all justice and what with chickie and her Hyakka and Yoshiwara business, but one time you were a pirate, too, and one time you made these requests with me breathing down your neck. So._

_Don't have a good year, you hear? Sit until you have no legs and I'm free to conquer the Earth._

_Lieutenant Mei._

"Was that a threat to Edo?" asks Kougi.

Zenshi stares at the paper for a good second or two.

"Nah."

* * *

><p><strong>.: JULY - A Time Far in the Future - :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"I hate rain. And there's a new billboard in the way. Is it new?"<p>

"I'll have them take it down."

"They'd better."

"Go study your history."

"I don't wanna study no hist'ry."

Zenshi glances up from his paperwork.

"Study. Or Seita will be your next tutor."

"Seita-nii doesn't know none of his hist'ry. He's only good at math."

Zenshi shakes his head and gestures for her to step away from the window. She does.

"And who do you think taught him his math?"

She rolls her eyes.

"I don't need math, I need hist'ry."

Her accent is endearing and pleading, but he doesn't relent. She's as headstrong as the woman who carried her, eager to explore and discover and identify her own self.

"Ask your mother."

"But Ma is _awful_ at teaching."

Zenshi glares at the girl, who plops herself down at the round meeting table.

"Study."

She relents, rolling her eyes.

"Only until it stops raining, okay?"

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Sciuttla diminished in one fell swoop before their eyes. The three Hyakka, somewhat harangued after a week of helping run a recovery center for injured rebels, were relieved to see the planet disappear. There had been enough colorful Amanto and blackened blood to last them a lifetime.<p>

Jenhao, who would stay under the command of Linter, grew smaller and smaller as the Kaientai climbed up the shaft of a departure terminal. The Yato was a tiny figure below, one arm in a sling after taking the brunt of a laser, and the other raised in solemn salute, briefly, before he turned back to Linter and Uhuru, who were also present to see their short-term allies return home.

"Boss," whispered one of the Hyakka. "Did we ever accomplish what we came to do?"

Tsukuyo deliberately answered with a perfectly straight face.

"Most likely," she answered.

The three Hyakka exchanged glances.

"What does that mean, exactly?" ventured the shortest one. Zenshi had long since given up on their names — Hotaru, maybe? — and named them by height and hair length.

"I'm thinkin' it'll be more quiet on the alien front," Tsukuyo offered. Again, confused glances.

"Boss," whispered the first again. "So we really haven't done anything, have we?"

"Sure did," retorted Tsukuyo indignantly. "We fought in a rebellion."

"And the Harusame won't terrorize Yoshiwara?"

Tsukuyo looked to Zenshi. Zenshi pointedly looked out the window, eliciting a sour frown from the blonde courtesan.

"I'd say so, yes." Tsukuyo folded her arms beneath her bosom and waited for her glare to burn a hole in Zenshi's neck. When he still didn't turn and the Hyakka felt intrusive just waiting there, she relinquished the effort. For now. "We got caught up in a lotta things, but we found the endin' we were lookin' for."

"I'd say so," muttered Mutsu, who had been sitting balefully in the corner for some time now. "At the cost of my ship."

"It's _my _ship!" Sakamoto cried. No one paid the poor man any attention. His complaints became diurnal chirps of wildlife, despite the fact that they were in a space ship traveling across universes and slipping through what must've been wormholes that defied all human concepts of space and time.

"I don't know what the point of that trip even was. Did we sell anything?" Mutsu snapped at one of her men.

"We sold a good portion of scrap metal from the damaged ship." The crewman referred to the massive amount of vessel that Kamui had singlehandedly thrown into shambles.

"But those profits went to repairs," Mutsu replied, indignantly. "This was all worthless."

"I'm sure my father will fund you and your endeavors," Zenshi threw in nonchalantly.

"Uncle is generous, sure, but I don't want your generosity." Mutsu added onto Tsukuyo's still-present glare.

"_Someone_ got up on the wrong side of the bed," sang Sakamoto. Again, though mostly ignored, Mutsu did offer the man some solace in that she threw her hat at him.

"Whatever," Mutsu growled. "So long as you all finished something you came to do, I guess all is well in the end."

And they had. The two suitcases full of money that Zenshi had successfully transferred — they had been guzzled Harusame funds, donated through accounts that Zenshi still knew the codes to and Linter had somehow gotten his hands on — to Sciuttlan rebellion relief forces. Over a thousand refugees so far had been shuttled across the planet or out into neighboring planets offering safety camps for the duration of the civil war. And that was only within the short time that Zenshi had been present.

Whether it was for Zenshi to deliver his package or for Tsukuyo to ward away the Harusame, their quest had come to a close.

And either way, through Linter's true devotion to the cause and the support of many sympathizers, for Sciuttla there was more than enough hope for Uhuru's freedom rally to succeed.

For the travelers, however, Sciuttla was but a tiny speck in the distance, home to something they had trouble recalling, but no problem knowing.

A few hours into their takeoff, after Mutsu had ambled back to the bridge and the Hyakka women found themselves playing a disinterested game of cards, Zenshi motioned for Tsukuyo to follow her down a hall.

"You saw me die," he said bluntly.

"Ya didn't quite die," she responded.

"Did you think I wasn't conscious?"

Her guard was up, but all over the place, prone to disseminate as soon as he probed hard enough. Tsukuyo's impressive glare was enough to deter most people from proceeding on the train of thought, but Zenshi was not most people.

"What are ya talkin' about." Not question; an apprehensive statement.

"When you did it. Did you think I was unconscious, then?"

"Did what?" Tsukuyo's face traded a pale doll's complexion for a cherry's blush.

"Did this." Zenshi cupped Tsukuyo's cheek in his hand and pressed his lips to hers, fingers trailing into her hair and pulling loose straw-gold strands until they tickled her neck. Unable to reciprocate until she regained her senses, Tsukuyo could only flush deep red in the cheeks and attempt to figure out where she could put her hands.

Finally, she decided simply to wrap her arms around his neck and let her inhibitions go — there was no urgent need to really think about it at all.

She just kissed him back.

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ONE MONTH LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>There is much catching up to do, but Madame listens with attentive love, her eyes sparkling and her hands wrapped around a mug of cider. The bakery is also a café, and the proprietress finds its delightful that Tsukuyo tastes the space-jellyfish's tongue without any hesitation at all.<p>

"Madame," calls one of the girls, a new one standing at the cash register. "Shall we put out the afternoon tea and scones?"

"Please do. I'll be right there."

"Don't worry, we're handling well." The girl smiles, hoping to allow their kind employer just a few hours of freedom because there is no one who works as hard as Madame, no one who cherishes the work like she does. "Besides, we are far from short-staffed."

At this, Zenshi's mother frowns because the back room must have been lonely without their head chef, but so far no complaints have arisen. Tsukuyo, stuffed full with blueberry cobbler and space-jellyfish, follows the woman's gaze.

"I thought someone called in sick," Madame says.

"We took on some quick help," replies the girl cheerily. "He knows how things run around here, so we're fine."

Zenshi smiles when he catches a glimpse of who is behind those spinning doors, but diverts his gaze to the warm tea mug in front of him.

"Did you tell him not to—"

"Not to stir the batter counterclockwise because your great-grandmother superstitiously believed in stirring the other way?"

Standing there, with a group of positively thrilled young Yato clustered at his side like a copse of trees, is Linter. Zenshi's father appears ridiculous, one arm dusted white with flour and the other with a box of what looked like cupcakes balanced on his waist.

"Are you all trying to give me heart attacks?" cries Madame incredulously, standing. This time, she practically flies over to her return visitor, arms thrown recklessly around her husband's neck.

"Don't blame me if I drop these," Linter warns, juggling the cupcakes while wrapping an arm around her.

"Politicians don't run away from responsibilities," Zenshi deadpans, sipping his tea.

"_You_ should be helping out your mother," Linter answers.

Tsukuyo bursts into laughter. Immediately, she coughs and stutters as she tries to cover her sudden amusement. Still sitting next to Zenshi, a full adult in his own right, she cannot help but laugh at the fact that his family is just like her own. She sees Hinowa in Madame, who passes accusatory but loving glowers between her husband and son. Zenshi might as well become Seita, the way he's subtly mouthing off to his father. And in Tsukuyo's kind but guarded personality she can see a little bit in Linter, who, as the most powerful man in this cluster of stars, also has a soft side for his family.

They are but a mother, a father, and a son, with too much lost time to take back, but much time left to cherish.

* * *

><p><strong>.: JULY - A Time Far in the Future - :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Don't stay out too late," Tsukuyo calls, seeing the girl dodge out the door from the corner of her eye. The young, fleeting creature brushes past Seita, who carries a load of laundry in a basket bigger than his upper body. The near-crash makes Tsukuyo cringe, but she doesn't scold anyone.<p>

"I won't," promises the girl. She has soft lavender eyes like her mother, but a complexion that melds easily into the night. With dark hair and dark clothes, the young warrior girl of Yoshiwara ducks out and through the streets.

"Did she tell you where she was going?" asks Zenshi, looking up from his papers.

"Not up to the surface, I told'er," Tsukuyo answers. "Why?"

"Nothing," Zenshi says, waving the topic off nonchalantly. "She forgot her umbrella, that's all."

"That girl forgets everythin'." Tsukuyo shakes her head as she drops a few chopped carrots into a saucepan. "She'd better be home for dinner."

"Tsukuyo-nee, something is burning." Seita, who is taller than Tsukuyo now, sniggers over the top of the laundry basket. A kunai whizzes his way, but he sidles out of its path just in time. "The sun's been strong lately," he continues, setting down the basket. "Will she be okay?"

"It's rather cloudy," Zenshi tells him. "She'll be fine."

"Thick skin," notes Tsukuyo whilst unceremoniously dumping burnt condiments into the trash. "That girl's tough, Seita. Don't go worryin' yerself bald."

"Oh, I'm far from bald." Seita grins.

The late afternoon errands are run — Seita finishes the laundry, Zenshi wraps up his office work, and Tsukuyo makes a fine, edible meal — and they settle for dinner. By then, the girl has diligently kept track of time and returned.

"Somethin' smells burnt," she chirps upon reentry. "But it's an old kinda burnt, like ya tried to air it out for a while."

She has keen senses and a sharp tongue, two things she has inherited and displayed with bold ease.

"The house is still intact, so we're all good," quips Seita. He dodges another kunai.

"We should build a space house. Like, a house with a huge station on top where ships can land." The girl beams, brushing her dark hair back from her eyes.

"We ain't got use for a space station," Tsukuyo replies blandly.

"Are we ever goin' into space? People visit us, but we never visit them." There is a sly pout on the girl's face that everyone — well, almost everyone — has learned to look away from.

"No," Tsukuyo says.

"Eventually," Zenshi replies at the same time.

The girl rolls her eyes.

"Can we just _agree_ on somethin'? Please?"

Tsukuyo, who is about to deny her even that, is silenced by a sudden crash of thunder outside and the tremble of rain, pattering heavily outside.

"It's a good thing ya came home when ya did," the blonde courtesan transitions seamlessly. "Yer poor umbrella feels left out."

The girl harrumphs and grabs the parasol, a blue one, and leans it against her chair.

"I won't forget, now."

She beams, and there is a little bit of light and a little bit of warmth that convinces her family that there is something worth more than vacation out there in space.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"We ain't goin' into space ever again," Tsukuyo declared adamantly upon touching ground in Edo. Her heels clicked decisively against the terminal tiles, dodging people like it was an Olympic sport.<p>

"Even if I asked?" Zenshi said dryly.

"Even if ya asked." She stormed out past customs, despite the several security officers chasing after her. Zenshi flashed a badge – the eagle was already serving him just fine – and they stammered a few apologetic lines before retreating to their desks.

"Tsukuyo." He grabbed her forearm.

Startled, one because he typically never called her directly and two because his contact was strong, Tsukuyo wheeled around on a heel.

"What?"

"You're going in the wrong direction."

* * *

><p><strong>.: NOVEMBER, TWO MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"I still can't believe you didn't bring any souvenirs," Seita pouts, arms crossed over his thin chest as if he is the Shogun himself.<p>

"Souvenirs from where?" asks Hinowa, snorting. She is preparing a hotpot dinner while Seita, the typical but beloved nuisance, provides commentary. "He just works downtown, Seita."

"Bring me downtown souvenirs! Like dango, or something."

Zenshi doesn't even frown; he just stares at the boy like he has grown two heads.

"Ya have all the dango ya want here," Tsukuyo tells the boy.

"Nah." Seita smiles smugly. He's picked up a few habits from Zenshi – many often do – and the fact that Zenshi started a rather amusing idiosyncrasy of using "nah" overly casually is not helping anyone's case. In fact, when Tsukuyo is dead serious and desires his opinion, "nah" is the last thing she wants to hear. But Zenshi just has that way of putting her in an off mood – not quite angry but not cuddly and soft, either.

Zenshi flicks his umbrella and it smacks Seita's leg under the table. The boy yelps.

"Ow! What was that for?! That hurt!" he exclaims sourly.

"Nah." Zenshi smiles.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Almost as if she had a sixth sense, Hinowa was out and about, actively wheeling in her chair as she anticipated their arrival. Seita, who immediately picked up on his mother's change in routine, bounded outside to see Tsukuyo and Zenshi casually making their way down the road whilst three Hyakka tittered endlessly beside them.<p>

"Tsukuyo-nee! Zenshi!" Seita practically tripped over himself as he hurtled down the avenue, still quiet in the daytime. While Tsukuyo allowed the boy to wrap his arms around her, Zenshi effectively dodged and instead gave the boy a face full of umbrella. When Seita complained, Tsukuyo hushed him sharply because though Zenshi was probably too tired to actually deal with Seita at the moment, in reality he simply didn't want the boy to tackle him so hard his wounds reopened. Zenshi's arm had closed up almost magically, in that way that Yato do, but the shrapnel embedded in his torso and back had done its damage.

After a few initial return greetings, Zenshi retreated to the same guest room he'd inhabited prior to his various escapades. The futon was arranged just as he'd left it, patterned maroon quilt folded flatly and neatly.

His ears picked up the footsteps of someone padding down the hall. Tsukuyo peered into his room just as he knelt at the futon. Closing the sliding panel behind her, she half-walked half-scurried to his side, attempting to seem casual but actually just as ready to crash as he was.

Zenshi and Tsukuyo exchanged no words. Neither made the effort to even throw back the coverlets — they simply found themselves with the floor by their faces, noses almost touching, relenting to fatigue and exhaustion and sleep.

Some time later, Hinowa would wheel in gently, soundlessly rearranging the blanket so that it draped across the two bodies, curled inwards toward each other, fingers interlaced. And then she closed the blinds, shutting away the sun that, for Yoshiwara, meant nighttime was well underway.

They would stir from their dreams only when the moon returned, basking them in its soft, lunar glow, chronicling the awakening of an unlikely pair.

* * *

><p><strong>.: NOVEMBER, TWO MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"I told ya, I ain't gonna go—"<p>

When it comes to pretty little lunches, Zenshi is a charismatic charlatan, a master pretender and the greatest actor since Mei's older sister. Tsukuyo adamantly refuses to go out on what he has subtly worded as "not a date" despite the fact that this will be his only free noontime interval for quite some time.

"The Hyakka are goin' to bust a drug deal," she says. But it's not true, of course.

"Yoshiwara needs lookin' after. There's been Amanto crawlin' about durin' the daylight hours," is another one she attempts before Hinowa decidedly pushes her out the door.

"The man came all the way from downtown Edo to go to lunch with you," snaps the ebony-haired woman. She harrumphs and rolls her chair out after them. "You can't turn him down now."

Among Hinowa's clipped witticisms and various teases, she has included taunts about Tsukuyo's naivety and a brazen tendency to throw in sensitive topics — namely, one Sakata Gintoki — into the fray just to coax a little something out of the blonde courtesan. Tsukuyo, who has nearly mastered the art of taming her blush, often can't help but turn slightly pink. Whether it's out of annoyance or embarrassment, no one can tell, but the teases chafe at her.

"Gintoki wouldn't have gone through all that trouble," Hinowa quips. "You should grab onto a man that makes time for you. Isn't that right, ladies?"

A few Hyakka who gathered around Hinowa's parlor begin to chatter, giggle, and nod.

"Gintoki is a—" Tsukuyo struggles.

"A man with far more free time on his hands than I do," Zenshi cuts in dryly. "I also have a reservation."

"He's guilt tripping you," whispers Seita.

"Politicians don't guilt trip," Zenshi replies, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. "We simply state the obvious."

"Fine," Tsukuyo finally relents. She walks stiffly beside Zenshi to the Yoshiwara elevators, painfully aware of many sets of eyes on their backs. The woman pointedly ignores each time Zenshi's hand brushes against hers until a neighbor snorts and someone guffaws because she is reddening with each step and looking more and more ridiculous.

Finally, she takes it, lacing her fingers with Zenshi and letting the admiring coos — from the Hyakka and Hinowa, a ways down the street — pass over her head.

"That was a new record," he murmurs, amused. "Only took you a minute and five seconds this time."

"What's that s'pposed to mean?" she snaps. He shrugs and slows his pace. Tsukuyo glares. "Did ya really have a reservation?"

He shakes his head, not sheepish at all. Tsukuyo would throw a kunai, but her one hand is occupied and her mind goes to mush because he's laughing at her. Almost inaudibly, he lets out a small chuckle that fits perfectly to the sly, lupine grin on his face.

"I'll give ya three seconds to stop laughin'," she warns, but her lip twitches upward.

Zenshi presses an elevator button, shiny and polished. They step inside.

* * *

><p><strong>.: EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Sometimes emotions come like floods, but they are floods of heavy, viscous fluids that ooze slowly and menacingly into the body. The scent of blood can do that — it permeates with the essence of poison gas, sifting through the nerves until one is roiled into nausea and pain. The cold in his body fills at high tide, the pain as powerful as the moon pushing and pulling the sea. It's as if there is still a knife in his face; the moments replay constantly in his head.<p>

The hands that grasp him are warm.

He remembers clearly each ounce of blood that unfroze in those hands.

And, to his surprise, his sight fully unravels with a smile, the citadel of all things him and all things not. The room is still dark, but he glows pale, sweat glistening at his forehead. Death does not scare the predator; Death does not scare Zenshi.

At least, not at this age.

But he certainly knows its name, and finds that should the soul reaper come to claim the warm hands that envelope him, he will consider fighting tooth and nail to get them back.

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ELEVEN MONTHS AGO :.<strong>

* * *

><p>His crew had a tendency to simply stare out the window upon congregation in the third meeting room. The bulwarks of the ship were typically plain, darkly painted, and sullen, but the third meeting room was carpeted and embellished, the walls adorned with paintings and the fourth wall an observation deck behind the bridge.<p>

Mei discerned direction by watching asteroids float by, but Tabs often argued that they could well be suspended in the middle of nowhere, watching things orbit past them. Jinlin had a habit of counting stars, Jenhao typically organized his next day's work, and Delong, a far cry from a socialite, sat broodingly near the head of the table.

When Zenshi did not mind a few moments of silence, he, too, looked out the window. There were a few moments in time where sorting through Prince Hata of the North Star's intergalactic animal cruelty law proposals were not as important as a few seconds of stillness.

It was in those rare moments that up, down, left, and right didn't matter.

Only the passage of time.

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ONE MONTH LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>She fingers the light blue umbrella with an expression that Zenshi can't quite interpret. Her thumb turns the fabric in her hands, running along the embroidery of Zenshi's name, along the end, alongside a thousand and one patterns Madame has deftly woven over time. Eighteen years, is it? Eighteen years is a long time.<p>

"Can't imagine ya holdin' this," Tsukuyo says, holding up the petite parasol. "When ya came only t'about here?" She gestures to her waist.

"Shorter," Madame notes. "He was a short one before he turned ten."

Tsukuyo smiles. Zenshi isn't sure if he's comfortable or exasperated; he decides it's an inexplicable mixture of both, and relents because his human partner is far happier than she lets on.

"Is this what ya wanted to show me?" she murmurs, leaning into him.

"Something along those lines."

Madame is cordial and emanates warmth. Though she hasn't had quite enough time to reacquaint herself with her son, she is absolutely delighted by his travel companion, who has a coquettish way of nudging him with her elbow from time to time. There are few instances and fewer people that can make Zenshi smile, but for this golden-haired Earthling, it comes as easily as breathing. Madame exchanges glances with her husband.

"Lanhua, isn't it nostalgic?" Linter says beneath his breath.

"Very," she agrees. There is joy bubbling inside of her, ready to burst. The festivities within their family aren't boisterous, but they are felt to the core with a loving cupidity. It's a selfish thing, but it's the type of contentment that all families hold onto with their lives. "Do you ever travel near Earth?"

"Occasionally," Linter says. "Perhaps we'll take a trip there, soon."

Madame Lanhua smiles as Tsukuyo points out a patch of embroidery fashioned in a colorful pattern akin to stained glass. A second honeymoon doesn't seem like a bad idea. In fact, it may as well be their first all over again. A visit to Earth and maybe, just maybe, a peek through the window on yet another new life their son has entered.

She doesn't glance up, only watching her son's hand pass gently over Tsukuyo's.

"Perhaps," she says.

_Perhaps_.

* * *

><p><strong>.: NOVEMBER, TWO MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>When no one is looking — for it's just the two of them in the elevator — Zenshi closes the gap between their faces and kisses her softly.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>.: DECEMBER, THREE MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Snow falls gently over Edo, mapping the city in whites and blues and Christmas spirit hues. The residents of Kabukichou and the surrounding areas have a grand ole time prepping for holiday dinners and New Year's parties. Zenshi, who has hardly any experience with the Earthling holiday whatsoever, waits patiently as Seita haphazardly describes how a jovial, rotund man from the north travels over in a floating reindeer-drawn sleigh and delivers presents to children everywhere. The point of the holiday flies — just like Santa does over houses on Christmas Eve — right over Zenshi's head, but he enjoys the festivities.<p>

Hinowa, of course, deviously places a mistletoe right where she knows her favorite couples will be caught. Tsukuyo, though banned from alcohol for most of the night, is red in the face for a good time because of that mistletoe.

Zenshi, of course, doesn't mind.

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ONE MONTH LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"It doesn't bother you, bud?" Abuto props his umbrella against a chair, studying the scuffed toe of his boot with feigned interest. "You didn't seem to react much when our darling Mei said it."<p>

"No, it doesn't bother me anymore," Zenshi admits. Sure enough, the very second a "Mr. Politician" taunt slipped from Mei's lips, Zenshi's typical abhorrence of the tease slipped over him like sand through his fingers. To his surprise, he harbors no grudges against the relation to his father. "I don't think it ever did."

"You just tricked yourself into thinking so, didn't ya?" Abuto claps a hand on Zenshi's back, hard. This man, who appears regrettably older than he is, never ceases to amaze Zenshi with that lopsided smirk. His second father figure can portray so much with just his eyes and a grin. Abuto shakes his head. "Politicians tend to do that, you know?"

"Do they, now? Perhaps I'll start anew, then."  
>"An honest man in your father's realm is uncommon. Men like your father are few and far in between," Abuto says. "There are blurred lines and clear ones, but it's up to you to decide which ones are which."<p>

Somewhere between his first word and the wan smile he passes, Abuto means to say that Zenshi will never be rid of the things he despises, but at the same time he can dispense his misconceptions for truths. The Yato are creatures that dwell in rain and mist. There are lies that hide in the truth, and truths that hide in the lies — that is their obscure nature. They can never cease being Yato, but they are never just one thing.

"Still, I am not my father," Zenshi replies. "Because sometimes there are men so great they are beyond comprehension."

"So you're looking up to your old man, bud? What a turnaround." Abuto's grin is mocking but sincere.

"Not quite," Zenshi chuckles. It's rare to see the former lieutenant smile, but the expression comes rather easily to his features, so Abuto immediately accepts it. "But I'll tag along for the ride."

Tabs's voice comes over the ship intercom, and Abuto tears his gaze away from their reflections in the glass.

"It's time for you to get off our ship," the vice-captain announces. He offers a hand; Zenshi shakes it, firmly. "It was a good seven years, bud."

Zenshi departs, but not without pausing at the lip of the tunnel erected between space shuttles.

"Abuto," he calls over his shoulder.

The Harusame's second-in-command waits.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p><strong>.: NOVEMBER, TWO MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Tsukuyo often wonders if it ever gets lonely and gloomy beneath eternal shade, but finds that rather than seclusion it brings her solace.<p>

But then again, it might be because she stands under the umbrella with someone else, someone whose tall, lean frame shields her from harm — even though she doesn't need it — and whose hand fits into hers like a key to a lock. She's never really noticed until now, but the smooth tones of his laughter, his voice, resonate softly in his chest when she presses her cheek to his shirt.

But that's only in the elevator, of course, because no one shall ever see them so intimate besides themselves.

* * *

><p><strong>.: DECEMBER, THREE MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>He stands there, donned in Yato robes but appearing out of place because they are the wrong colors in the right place, surveying the land that is theirs. Linter laughs every time they meet, but it's a lighthearted one, a good-natured gesture because he appreciates the assimilation of cultures. After all, what sane Yato would wear their cultural apparel in soft, sky blues and pastel yellows?<p>

Nonetheless, Jenhao blends in with the crowd better, just as he melds seamlessly into the sky he stands against.

"The city is ours," comes the cry. And it's true. With the capital liberated, it's not just the greatest city — it's the entire planet. Sciuttla is theirs, despite the long, hard road ahead of them. Recovery will reign as the greatest challenge; remnants of the military dictatorship will decry the victorious rebels' efforts.

But the sensation of liberation is enough to erode the lingering malice.

More so than victory, freedom is their pride.

* * *

><p><strong>.: NOVEMBER, TWO MONTHS LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Asteroid belt," whispers Tabs. The lights on the ship are dimmed, and they float alongside the Kiheitai in an espoused voyage.<p>

"That's a cluster of stars," replies Mei, her voice just as low. There is no day or night, but the crew follows a 26-hour shift. They are supposed to be off-duty, sleeping, resting, watching the news in one of the lounges, but instead they sit. Shoulder to shoulder, the two stare out the window as if somehow what they envision will appear before them.

"It's definitely an asteroid belt," Tabs protests, his voice hardly audible.

Mei shakes her head.

Their quietude is broken by a few light footsteps and a familiar voice. It always bothers Mei, the smoothness of that man's voice.

"What are you two doing here?" asks Kamui, kneeling next to Tabs.

"Stargazing," Mei answers lightly. Kamui's voice is like silk, shimmering and almost melodic if the listener weren't aware of his bloodthirsty tendencies. Optimists may claim that it is his true voice — Mei harbors a strange hope that it isn't, simply because that would mean admitting that some form of twisted compassion exists in her captain, her admiral.

"There's no stars," Kamui snorts incredulously. "That's an asteroid belt. You know, the one that goes between Fastan and Vongolia?"

"Sir, it's between Vongolia and Millefiu," Tabs comments demurely.

Kamui shrugs. He looks like the eighteen-year-old he physically is, just for the moment, casual and nonthreatening. But the moment dissipates, and he's back to his fake grin and guarded, languid movements.

"You guys aren't on night shift, are you?"

"No, sir," the two answer in unison. If they are expecting a conversation, Kamui doesn't give it, because he simply acknowledges them and walks away.

After a moment or two, Tabs speaks, again in a whisper.

"Do you think he's lonely?"

Mei whirls around to stare at Tabs as if her friend has sprouted carrots from his ears. He might as well have, with that question. But certainly, there is no fallacy in his logic, seeing as a portion of her wants to know as well. The question is real.

"I guess we'll never know."

"It must be terrible to be so lonely." Tabs, whose propensity to shrink into his younger years when he speaks quietly, stares despondently out the window with his shoulders hunched.

"I guess so," Mei agrees reluctantly. Friends, she believes, are not signs of cowardice.

They are proof that, to someone else, you are alive.

* * *

><p><strong>.: OCTOBER, ONE MONTH LATER :.<strong>

* * *

><p>He wonders when he fell for her.<p>

And decides that he's better off never knowing, because what would she think?

Unbeknownst to Zenshi, Tsukuyo also ponders a similar question. Perhaps it was somewhere between question one and question twenty. Most likely, it was when she refused to answer half of them because she found them fallow and intrusive. But that was just ironic because he was a smart man who placed his questions carefully, almost strategically as he got to know her. She'd never outright told him she was infatuated with another person. In fact, she was fully convinced that only Hinowa had caught wind of her crush.

She'd never expected another one to creep her way.

Between her twenty questions and his twenty questions, a lustrous little star had fallen into the palm of her hands, hidden among the rocks and the dull pebbles.

Tsukuyo, being the stubborn, strong-willed figurehead of Yoshiwara that she is, doesn't hold onto the star. In fact, the first chance she has, she throws it right out of her figurative window.

"What're ya doin'?" she demands crassly when he comes a little too close. Zenshi peers at her curiously, expressionless just as he always has been — though she notices him smiling more often, and she admits to liking that smile — and as taciturn as he started.

Zenshi shrugs, as if to say that he hasn't been doing a thing.

"Ya think I didn't see?" Tsukuyo glances around quickly, but Zenshi's parents had disappeared into the bakery to close shop. She shoots him a glare for leaning in close to her. "What ya did just now?"

"Well, what do you want me to do then?"

"Stop answerin' with questions," she snaps. His leery expression makes her giggle internally, but quickly the blonde courtesan reminds herself that she is _the Courtesan of Death_, and the Courtesan of Death does not _giggle_. Yet another part of her has grown lenient, and is rather content with observing his quiet ways. The Sciuttlan incident had brought forth the most vigorous Zenshi she'd ever witnessed, which may not have been a bad thing, but it is this aloof, reserved, and slightly quirky Yato that she enjoys conversing with the most. "Ya already know what I want ya to do."

"Lie in a gutter half dead? I'd rather not." He leans his chin into a fist, looking slightly cheerful but mostly just sarcastic.

"So that I can meet ya all over again?" This time, Tsukuyo decides to take the lead. The tables are turned; she'll play the witty trick on him. And what will he say to that, then?

But Zenshi, never to be underestimated, balances gravity with humor, seriousness with joviality. And where Tsukuyo feels like she's hit a home run, he can leap the fence and catch it past the outfield. They are close together, almost daringly so, despite the fact that she just recently warded him off.

"If none of this ever happened, then I'd spend my whole life trying to die in a gutter so that I'd meet you."

Tsukuyo jerks backwards, flushing.

"What kinda death wish is that?!" she demands.

He laughs, a short chuckle because he also thinks that his own words are past cheesy and into fondue.

"One where I can meet the Courtesan of Death."

"Yer really creepin' me out with these, Zen."

Almost instantaneously, his eyes light up. His face is still a mask of blankness, but his eyes, deep blue like the sea, tell a different story. He's about to say something, but Madame reenters, asking if Tsukuyo prefers something called ice tuna pineapple over space peanut. Tsukuyo, with no clue whatsoever what the mousy woman has just said, just nods. Invigorated by the blonde's approval, Madame marches back to the kitchen to prepare whatever it was she had in mind.

"You seem like the type to like clichéd moments," Zen states bluntly.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"A little bit of both."

They spend the next few moments in terse silence, the distance frozen between them. The most she lets him get away with for the night is a peck on the cheek.

But that, too, is just fine with Zenshi.

For now.

* * *

><p><strong>.: SEPTEMBER, PRESENT :.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Question one." They started all over, as if some inviolable law had called for another set of inquiries simply to pass the time. The two settled on the rooftop, one of the highest in the underground city, placed as soft silhouettes against the glaring nightlife lights. Yoshiwara came alive once the sun set and the moon yawned open, suspended in the maw of the sky. The rise of the night eye was morning in Yoshiwara, as shops opened and the elevators became occupied by more and more thrill-seekers.<p>

Zenshi glanced at Tsukuyo, who had posed the initiation. The leader of the Hyakka watched Yoshiwara like a hawk, an attentive eye scanning the labyrinth of a city with practiced ease. There was no longevity in the bursting orange lanterns and luminary attractions. Even the ladies of Yoshiwara glowed with a certain appeal that gave the city its heart.

"Who'll look after Yoshiwara when we aren't?"

Zenshi decided that the question's inclusiveness was a comfortable one, but waited for her to elaborate further. When she didn't, he assumed.

"Someone strong. Like you."

"But it has t'be someone smart, too. Like you." She folded her arms, refusing to look at him.

"That someone will be both, then." And though they were not aware at the time, such a person would arise from the den of Yoshiwara.

Zenshi followed Tsukuyo's gaze for a few moments before returning with his own question.

"Question one," he stated, waiting for her to drag her attention from the city to his face, just for a moment. "How much would it take for you to go out into space again?"

Tsukuyo glared, but not at him. Her attention divided, she juggled retaliating and keeping guard over her city both at once.

"Never again," she announced decidedly.

"Just once. For my sake."

"When ya word it like that, it sounds like yer tryin' to coerce me into some plan of yers." Tsukuyo's tone was mocking, but the consideration behind his request was pending.

"I have a promise to keep."

"To?"

"Someone."

"What someone?"

"Why don't you guess?"

She tossed him a real glower this time, but softened when he strode up next to her and touched her elbow.

"It's a quiet night, don't ya think?" During the day, as the sun streamed in, dust particles could be seen floating languidly in their idle, random paths, completely oblivious to Edo's forces. Here, at night, the only illumination against the stark shadows was the flashing of advertisements in the red-light district, in Yoshiwara's heart. It was a typical night — and anything but quiet — but Tsukuyo felt otherwise.

"Very," agreed Zenshi, leaning close to her. The silence was not heavy; only contemplative. A soft breeze carried the aromas of human bustle and the smoke of small bonfires. If they held perfectly still, listening beyond the sound of their own breaths, the occasional creak of a lantern's hinges could be heard. And, beyond the bodies and the footsteps and the crowds, someone's wind chime, out of place in the dark night.

The questions did not continue for the night, seeing as the two preferred to engage in their little, private exchanges only from time to time. Yet simultaneously, the distance between the real question one and this one was vastly different, transformed from a canyon's width to a mere hair.

They shared a convivial adoration of Yoshiwara, celebrated in silence. Tsukuyo gently touched his left wrist, where a slightly protruding knob signified the place of an old break. Instinctively, her fingers closed around that spot, brushing against a calloused thumb and a warm palm. A wordless convergence of thoughts occurred, sitting silently on the edge of a rooftop, feeling the glittering autumn leaves from below counterbalance the fervent white eye from above.

And, the distance between their hands and breathes ebbing like a retreating tide, they watched the City of the Night.

A warrior and a guardian, immersed in their own stillness with esoteric little secrets and experiences between them. Tsukuyo twirled a kunai in her fingers, letting the metal glint in the light for just a split second, nothing but another flash in Yoshiwara's nightly chaos. Zenshi's umbrella hilt, the golden insignia — his own family crest, the silhouette of a wolf — glinted in the pale light that descended like soft, shimmering curtains from the opened roof.

The moments on that rooftop were hard to describe, and from then on they were increasingly rare, but the sensations lingered.

The lights of Yoshiwara, effervescent and ephemeral, lit upon them with a fleeting transience caught only in the warmth of their intertwined fingers.

It was eerily quiet for the Night Kingdom bathed in light, and continued to be so in an elusive peace, lanterns gleaming at obsidian sky like the eyes of wolves, howling their devotion to the moon.

* * *

><p><strong>.: FIN :.<strong>

* * *

><p>Thank you all so much for supporting me! I'm so glad this story worked its way to the end. My first completed story with somewhat of an actual plot! What a time to be alive.<p>

*strikes a pose*

For any chapter, any detail, questions, reviews, and opinions are welcome!

**Art:** My deviantART has had a recent influx of both Zenshi art and commissions of him! Check it out - link is on my profile.

**Notes:** Another reason this took me ages is because the site kept glitching on the copy-and-paste box-thing for uploading. This new editor is great! Lovin' it. What is this big text though. And strike through text too?!

Now go and get yourself a blue and yella' papaya.

_I started this story January 8th - I'm finishing it on April 26th._

_It's been a good three plus months._

**THANK YOU ALL FOR READING.**

**YOU ALL ROCK.**

**ASTEROID BELTS FOREVER.**

_**-Cavallo Alato-**_


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